


my luck could change

by leetlebird



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Getting Together, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7752229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetlebird/pseuds/leetlebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dex gets caught checking Nursey out in the locker room. Nursey, as always, makes it weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If this fic had a thesis, it would be: Love itself is a victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been working on this all summer, and the whole thing is finished at about 30K. I'll be updating (probably) every day, because I haven't had a chance to go back and proofread each chapter. The whole story should be posted by September!
> 
> Also, I chose the song "Need the Sun to Break" as the anthem of this fic, mostly because I clicked on the first playlist in Spotify's "Chill" category and that was the first song. Derek and I are both the worst.
> 
> The only content warnings that really apply here are internalized homophobia (poor Dex), some vague memories of homophobic teammates (poor Derek), and Derek making a dumb joke that could be perceived as making fun of sex workers.

Dex had only been back on campus for forty minutes before he found himself winding his way toward the Haus. Most of his teammates were probably back from winter break already, and odds were good that he would find a friendly face -- and, possibly, a freshly baked pie -- inside those doors. He didn’t have anything else to be doing, anyway, except maybe sit in his dorm room and stress about the new semester that was about to start.

Just as he had expected, there was a small crowd gathered in the Haus kitchen. Ransom, Holster, Shitty, and Lardo were playing some card game at the table, and Bitty was sitting cross-legged on the floor, paging through a cookbook. Nursey stood in front of the open fridge in a tank top that was not suitable for the weather at all, poking around the shelves and apparently unsatisfied with its contents. 

Disappointingly, the crumb-strewn plates atop the table made it clear that Bitty _had_ baked a pie, but Dex had missed it. Damn those forty minutes he’d spent reading online news. 

“Dexy! We were hoping our little gingersnap would make an appearance,” Holster cried from the table. Then he whooped and slapped his cards on the table, “Dude, I totally just destroyed your ass. Obliterated.”

Shitty, who must have been visiting before his own winter break ended, snorted. “This is why I wanted to explain the rules before we played, but no, _someone_ thought listening to the rules would be… what was it… ‘a tragic waste of my youth?’”

“So what you’re saying is… you’re bitter about losing?”

“What he’s saying is you suck at this game, and that’s not a winning hand,” Lardo said, grinning around her last bite of pie.

Dex, bemused in general, shifted his attention to the fridge. “You going to choose something eventually, or are you just blocking my way on purpose?”

“If you’re trying to hide the fact that you missed me, it’s seriously not working, dude,” Nursey responded easily, stepping away from the fridge. 

“Right.”

Nursey grinned and poked Dex in the ribs, right in the spot where he knew Dex was ticklish. He expertly dodged Dex’s half-hearted swipe of retaliation, just grinning bigger. “Come on, you can admit it. Every day of break, you woke up in the morning and felt a crushing sadness when you realized I wasn’t there.”

Feeling himself turning bright red -- thank you, genetics -- Dex managed to keep himself from shoving Nursey, but just barely. “Not likely.”

“Hey, if I can admit it, you can too,” Nursey said, then leaned his head down onto Dex’s shoulder. “I missed you so much. Please, please tell me you missed me half as much as I missed you.” He made kissing noises in Dex’s ear, which pretty much guaranteed that Dex would remain lobster-red for the next few fucking centuries.

Lardo coughed from the table. “Hey, Nursey? Chill.”

As the others hooted in appreciation of her well-timed chirp, Dex forced himself to relax and shrugged Nursey off of his shoulder. “You know what? I did miss you. Just a little.”

“Only a little?”

Dex scowled at Nursey’s smug grin. “Less than a little. The tiniest, most insignificant amount of missing that is possible, actually.”

“I’ll take it,” Nursey laughed, then moved to sit next to Bitty on the floor. “That a new cookbook?”

“Yeah!” Bitty said, beaming as he caressed a picture of what looked like ravioli. Or a cherry pie. Dex couldn't tell from this angle. “It was a Christmas present from my mom.”

While Nursey leaned in to help Bitty pick out the first recipe he should try, Dex grabbed a Sprite from the fridge and cracked it open. It was funny, but in a small way he actually _had_ missed Nursey over break. That was a first.

 _Missing_ might not be the right word to describe it, though -- it was more that he had been reminded of Nursey every now and then, and had kind of wished Nursey were there to talk to. Like when his parents gave him Voltaire’s _Candide_ on Christmas morning, a gift spurred by Dex mentioning that he wished he had read more intellectual books than just _Harry Potter_ after a particularly frustrating argument with Nursey.

He’d realized that this present was, in a weird way, thanks to Nursey’s well-needed criticism of Dex’s reading habits, but the even weirder thing was that Nursey had totally mentioned this book. That was a total coincidence, since his parents had no idea, but Nursey had read _Candide_ back in August (and had been insufferable for, like, a week). Dex’s first instinct had been to turn to Nursey and laugh about the coincidence, and to remind him of what a jackass he had been thanks to Voltaire all those months ago. That might count as missing someone.

“You have to be FUCKING kidding me!” 

Lardo was flopped back in her chair dramatically, one hand lying on her forehead as if she were about to faint. Shitty was groaning into his hands and shaking his head. Clearly things had not gone as expected in their game.

Holster stood up on his chair and crowed, while Ransom did his best to hype him up below. “That’s right, you animals! Time to eat your words!” 

Seeing Dex’s confused stare, Bitty supplied helpfully, “Lardo and Shitty bet that Holster wouldn’t win. Now they have to run around the Haus in their underwear.” He seemed to be the only person who wasn’t energized by this prospect, but then Bitty tended to mother the rest of the team. “It wasn’t a very smart bet.”

“Hell no, it wasn’t!” Holster yelled, jumping down to the floor and landing in something resembling a karate pose. “I destroy at all card games.”

“I could have won, but I didn’t go for it because I wanted Holtzy to win,” Ransom added.

“Bro,” Holster said, grabbing Ransom’s hand and clutching it to his heart. “ _Thank_ you.”

Shitty and Lardo only scowled, but as they got up and began stripping in the middle of the kitchen, their scowls turned to laughter. Their underwear was matching, which Dex thought was really fucking weird.

“This is _so_ not sanitary,” Bitty whispered glumly as Shitty dropped his pants on the table.

Once they were down to their underwear, Ransom and Holster cheered and started pushing them toward the door. “Time to freeze your judgmental, nay-saying asses off,” Holster said, then grunted when Lardo jabbed him in the solar plexus.

Nursey got to his feet, then turned and helped Bitty up too. As Bitty trailed after the others, clutching his cookbook to his chest and frowning, Nursey walked over to Dex and draped an arm around his shoulder. “Dude, we gotta watch this,” he said, snagging the Sprite out of Dex’s hand and taking a big slurp.

Under normal conditions, Dex would have been indignant about Nursey contaminating his drink with his germs, but today was his first day back and his friends were about to embarrass themselves for no good reason. He wasn’t even capable of getting mad. “Let’s go.”

\--

Crowded into the locker room before practice, Derek reflected on how odd it was that he could find the scent of sweat and body odor so comforting. He had never felt this way in Andover. Then again, he had found most of his old teammates to be irritating, ignorant, and racist, so the concept of a team being family was pretty new. 

Chowder was standing to his right, wriggling out of his jeans and talking a mile a minute. That was another thing that made Derek feel more at home on Samwell’s team. Back at Andover, telling a couple of his teammates that he was bi had been highkey one of the stupidest decisions ever, and most of his senior season had passed in awkward silence -- no one wanted to sit near him in the locker room; no one wanted to hug him or pat him on the ass out on the ice. True, Derek hadn’t really liked them all that much anyway, but if he hadn’t been so _chill_ about the whole thing, it probably would have really stung.

Here, he had been a little more careful in who he shared that part of himself with. Under vows of solemn secrecy, he had already told Chowder, Holster, Bitty, and Shitty, back when Shitty had been on the team. And none of them - _none of them_ \- had made it weird, either in the initial conversation or in the locker room. If nothing else made Derek glad he’d found this family, that alone was enough.

Chowder was still pantsless and rummaging through his equipment bag. “Oh god, oh god, where is--? Oh no!”

“Dude. Breathe.” Derek grinned as he peeled off his shirt and stretched. “I know you didn’t forget your uniform. Remember? You Snapped it to me.” Chowder was disorganized as hell and knew it, so he had sent Derek “photographic evidence” on Snapchat the night before to verify that he wasn’t as much of a hot mess as he normally was. His goalie uniform had been displayed prominently. 

But Derek had to hand it to Chowder -- he still found a way to be a hot mess.

“I know I did!” Chowder wailed, grabbing onto his hair like his uniform might be hiding inside. “But I also realized last night that my socks were really gross, so I took them out and put them in the wash…” He trailed off and looked at Derek imploringly.

“Bro, I don’t have an extra goalie uniform lying around,” Derek said, but he clapped Chowder on the shoulder to help calm him down. “Why don’t you just run back to the Haus and look for it? You’ll only be, like, a couple minutes late.”

Chowder nodded frantically, then started squeezing himself back into his jeans.

Derek had to ask. “And you _double-checked_ that it’s definitely not in your bag?” 

“Yes!” Chowder said. “Three times!” But he crouched down and started looking again. “Nope, still not there. Agh!”

“Then scurry off, dude,” Derek said. He gave Chowder a gentle push toward the door, and in a few moments his amazingly talented, tragically disorganized goalie was out of sight.

With no more adorable distractions, Derek turned to his own locker and grabbed his jersey. Unlike Chowder, he hadn’t taken any of his equipment home over break, so he didn’t have to worry about where he’d left any of it. 

Derek turned around and was about to lift his jersey over his head when he became aware of a lurking ginger presence. Dex was standing at his own locker, fully dressed in uniform, helmet in his hands, staring at Derek with what could only be described as a _glazed-over_ look in his eyes. He looked like he was about ten seconds away from drooling on the locker room floor. 

“Yo, this isn’t a free show, so you’d better have some bills to tuck in my waistband,” Derek said, grinning. 

Dex flushed an even deeper red than Derek would have predicted and immediately cast his eyes down. In that tiny instant, Derek felt a jolt of regret for calling Dex out, especially after Dex had been so much friendlier and more relaxed since coming off of break. 

Before Derek could apologize -- not that he was sure he was _actually_ going to apologize -- Dex snapped, “Don’t be disgusting.”

Technically, apologizing was still an option, but Derek wasn’t a big fan of the word ‘disgusting’ in this context. It was sort of giving him Andover flashbacks. “Hey, dude, I’m just sitting here. You’re the one with the googly eyes.”

“I was just looking at that ugly tattoo,” Dex said through gritted teeth, his face still red. “How high were you when you actually let someone put that on your body? _Permanently_?”

“Fuck off, Poindexter,” Derek snapped, and Dex fucked off quite promptly, stomping out of the locker room without another word. He practically knocked himself out colliding with the doorframe, but Derek wasn’t in the mood to laugh at him.

The locker room was very quiet; the only other player still there was Whiskey, who seemed content to pretend he had neither seen nor heard any of this, and was quietly pulling out his skates. Derek sighed into his hands once, quietly, then finished putting on his own uniform.

This situation was pretty fucking shitty. Derek felt a cold dread in the pit of his stomach, and that feeling was centered around Dex saying _disgusting_ , Dex saying his tattoo was ugly, Dex leaving the locker room without looking back. And the lump of shame in his throat was -- it was because Derek knew, with a certainty that drained him of the mental energy to fight it off, that he was more than attracted to Will Poindexter. That would have been easy.

The truth was, Derek had known he was physically attracted to Dex after his first week at Samwell. That had been kind of annoying, and had definitely played a role in their antagonistic relationship (barbing Dex was decent payback for making Derek feel attracted to a Republican), but there were a bunch of other guys and girls that made Derek feel that same spark of physical interest. It didn’t have to _mean_ anything. Not if Derek didn’t want it to.

But here he was, and his attraction to Dex had transformed into a feeling that meant something, even though Derek still didn’t want it to. It probably meant there was something wrong with Derek that the only way he realized he wanted to be with someone was when they rejected him, but it was happening and he couldn't do anything about it. 

Even though Dex hadn’t even known he was rejecting him, because Derek had been very careful to keep Dex out of the loop on the whole “I’m bi” thing. Before, he had thought this was just because Dex was a wild card who might respond negatively, but now he wondered if he’d been protecting himself against a more personal rejection.

“Genius, Derek,” he hissed at himself, and ignored a weird look from Whiskey, who was heading for the door. Derek had somehow managed not only to develop feelings for someone he could barely get along with, but now had either grossed out a straight boy or, if he allowed himself to be hopeful, given a closet-case a mildly traumatizing experience. He might as well wait for Chowder to get back, because it was going to take him more than a few minutes to feel ready to meet Dex’s eyes again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Dex and Derek got along for 5 minutes. Then Derek caught Dex checking him out and things went downhill.
> 
> Content warnings: More defensive homophobia from William "WYD" Poindexter (a bit more pointed than last time, but no slurs).

_“It’s ironic, of course, that while the Bronte women were the only successful artists of the family, they were forced to use male pen names in order to achieve…”_

Derek had long ago mastered the art of looking attentive when he was anything but that. But he had never, not in a million years, thought he would have to employ this skill in a Literary History class. 

And it wasn’t even the professor’s fault -- she was brilliant. Derek just had… other things on his mind. Red-headed, crabby, hockey-playing things.

_“...his descent into substance abuse had a profound effect on his sisters…”_

Derek held in a sigh and delicately rested his chin on one hand. It was pointless to replay the other day’s events in his mind over and over (and over and over and over) again, but he _had_ to do it. Like he was compelled by fate, or suffering from a traumatic brain injury.

_“Yo, this isn’t a free show, so you’d better have some bills to tuck in my waistband.”_ What a completely stupid thing to come out of his mouth. He deserved to suffer reliving the memory over and over, honestly. Not only did it feel like a totally unchill dig at strippers, which Derek was generally above doing, but it was, like, the worst way ever to address Dex’s blatant staring. How the fuck did he _expect_ Dex to react to that? Blushing demurely and admitting that he found Derek’s upper body quite tantalizing?

What he _should_ have done, Derek reflected, was be super casual. Just gesture down at his tat and say something like, “Oh, have you never gotten an up-close look? Dude, come here; shit’s dope.” And Dex would have come and stood right next to him. He could have touched Derek’s tattoo and asked questions about it, which could have seamlessly transitioned to kissing. Derek let his imagination play out a potential highlights reel of three years of dating, an adorable marriage proposal -- Dex got down on one knee when they were vacationing in London -- and the beginnings of an embarrassingly hipster wedding ceremony before he realized what he was doing. 

_Chill the fuck out_ , he warned himself. Two seconds later he had already come to the conclusion that chilling the fuck out was an unrealistic option, and Derek now had a somewhat workable game plan. Objective: Find out if maybe, just maybe, Dex was into guys. Moving on and pretending this wasn’t bugging him was impossible, and he’d be out of it until he had this figured out anyway. Even if Dex ended up being straighter than the cast of, like, any network show ever, that would be okay. As long as Derek got some _closure_ , and didn’t embarrass Dex (or himself) in the process, he was okay with any outcome. It was time for him to go full-on Veronica Mars.

\---

What the hell was wrong with Dex that he didn’t have an Instagram? His Facebook account looked like it hadn’t been updated in, like, six months, and his Twitter was almost as bad.

But that was okay. Derek was sitting on his lofted bed while his roommate, Harrison, played Sims or whatever the fuck he did on his weird little bean bag chair. Up in his perch, Derek had access to a vanilla bean latte and the Grimes station on Pandora, so he was ready for the long haul.

Going back to Dex’s pictures from 2011 seemed like a decent place to start, if only because it was amusing to see the gung-ho spirit with which adolescent-Dex had embraced the concept of hockey hair. Slowly, methodically, Derek social-media-stalked every dude Dex seemed to have been friends with back in the day. Of these dudes, one was officially gay now, but it didn’t look like he and Dex were friends anymore. (Derek wasn’t sure what it would have meant if they _had_ been friends.)

None of Dex’s tweets revealed anything too exciting, either. He basically only liked other people’s tweets, apart from a few random occasions. Once, he announced that the fish tacos in the dining hall were good. There was a picture he’d taken with Ransom at the last Epikegster. The only other tweet Dex had posted this entire damn year was a picture of a big spider on his floor, wittily captioned ‘woah.’ 

Derek slammed his face into his pillow and stifled a groan. It was frustrating to accept that he now would be forced to fish for information face-to-face. It was also frustrating to accept that, somehow, this stupid social media hunt had made him even more into Dex. Why did he like someone with all the social media skills of a grandpa? What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

\---

He was sitting with Chowder on a bench outside Founders, sweating despite the cold. Sure, talking to Chowder instead of Dex was a bit of a cop-out, but Derek didn’t consider bravery one of his defining characteristics anyway.

“I don’t know,” Chowder whined, shifting uncomfortably. “Are you sure we should be talking about Dex when he’s not here? And this seems kinda personal.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Derek said, and then a flash of inspiration struck him. “Look, I’m thinking about, you know… telling Dex soon. That I’m bi.” He was proud of himself for multiple reasons. First, because that was a guaranteed way to get Chowder to talk. Second, because it wasn’t even a lie -- Dex was one of the most important people in his life, and he should know that about Derek. Third, because Derek had casually said “I’m bi” while sitting on a bench in a public place where anyone walking by could have overheard, and he didn’t feel self-conscious at all.

Chowder clapped his hands and grinned. “Yay! I’m so happy for you! Plus I really hated knowing something about you that Dex didn’t. Not,” he added in a rush, “that I minded! I would have never told him! But… yay.”

“Thanks. But… like I said. Anything?”

Derek had laid at Chowder’s feet the important task of sharing whether or not Dex had ever said or done anything in his presence that would mark him as homophobic. It was, first of all, a long shot that Dex had ever said or done anything in Chowder’s presence that would mark him as gay (or bi), and then another long shot that Chowder would share something that personal with Derek. But anything could happen.

“I guess he was a little… _phobic_ at the beginning of freshman year,” Chowder admitted, grimacing like it physically pained him to say it, “but he’s been super nice ever since then! Even when you’re not around.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Derek snapped, suddenly paranoid that Dex _knew_ , which was ridiculous since he was already planning to tell him. Just. He wanted to be in charge of who knew and when.

Chowder looked genuinely frightened, which made Derek feel bad for getting mad. “I don’t know, just, like, he knows you’re more, um, progressive? And you would argue with him when he was being all conservative?” He gulped.

“Dude, it’s fine. I’m sorry.” Derek ruffled Chowder’s hair and smiled when Chowder grinned up at him like the precious and wonderful person he was. “But that’s it, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chowder said, and gave Derek a big hug. “Don’t worry, though. Dex is awesome and he thinks you’re so awesome too. He’s not gonna be weird or make it a problem at all, I swear.”

“Thanks, bud,” Derek mumbled through a mouthful of Chowder’s hair. “For having my back.”

“I love youuuu.”

“Dude," Derek mumbled, face warm. "Chill."

\---

While his conversation with Chowder may have been emotionally beneficial, it didn’t really give Derek any material regarding Dex’s sexuality. Damn it all, he would have to actually talk to _Dex_ about this.

 _Subtlety is key_ , he reminded himself as he casually cornered Dex in the Haus. It took a while, but eventually Derek had been able to find his moment -- everyone else was either in the kitchen or the living room, and Dex was heading for the basement to get a beer. All Derek had to do was mumble that he needed one too, and, just like that, he had some alone time with Dex.

“I could have just grabbed one for you, you know,” Dex said drily as they descended into the basement.

Derek shrugged. “Whatever. Not a big deal.” Playing it cool, playing it cool. He very, very casually shut the basement door behind them. Casually.

It was completely silent. Dex seemed uninterested in making conversation, and Derek chickened out momentarily -- just long enough to stand still on the stairs and watch Dex’s body move as he reached the floor of the basement. 

Then Dex turned around and gave Derek the most adorably annoyed look ever. “Are you just gonna stand there, then?”

“Nah, man, I’m just thinking,” Derek squeaked, then hurried after him. In what he hoped was a legitimate flash of inspiration, he shrugged off his jacket, exposing his bare arms in a tank top beneath. “I was thinking that I’ve never, uh, told you about my tattoo before? Kind of a cool story…”

Dex scowled. “Is this about what -- the _locker room_?” he hissed, reddening. “Because I thought it was pretty fucking obvious that we’re _not talking about that_.” He grabbed two beers from the cooler, rough and angry, and pushed past Derek to start climbing the stairs.

“Oh, right,” Derek said, hoping he still sounded calm and not at all like he was internally freaking out. “But, come on bro, it’s not a big deal. You just wanted to see my tat, and I’ll show it to you if you want.”

“Like I give a shit about your stupid tattoo,” Dex said, breathing hard through his nose, but at least he had stopped and turned around to look down at Derek.

Derek blinked slowly and tried to look handsome. “Okay. Fine. Let’s change the subject, then.” 

“Fine,” Dex snapped back.

The awkwardness seemed poised to devour him alive, so Derek barrelled forward. “You got a girlfriend back home?”

Dex’s mouth opened, and he momentarily could do nothing but gape like a fish. “I -- what?”

Derek felt as if he were watching himself through a screen, like he was that dumbass in a horror movie who walked through a dark hallway with a kitchen knife instead of calling the police. Like the rational part of his brain was waving his arms and screaming at him to stop, but this train had left the station and was probably going to crash. “A girlfriend. Or, you know…” It was pretty damn obvious that he was leading toward “or a boyfriend.” _Casual, my ass_ , he thought.

“Fuck. You.” Dex looked a little bit like a red atomic bomb that was in the process of exploding. “I thought you were different now, but you know what? Fuck you. _Fuck you_.”

“Um, whoa.” Derek held up his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture. “Calm down, dude. I wasn’t --”

“I’m so sick of you,” Dex said, his volume building dangerously toward a yell. “Everything always has to be about -- about gay shit with you, and I don’t know if it’s cause _you’re_ gay or if you just think it’s _funny_ , but it’s not funny and _I’m_ not gay, so just. Fuck. You.” 

Derek stood completely still while Dex stomped violently up the stairs and slammed the basement door shut, wondering if it would have been less painful for Dex to just push him down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making Derek sad makes _me_ sad, and yet.... I'm going to keep on doing it.....
> 
> Up next: A super awkward team breakfast


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Derek tried to be subtle as he poked for clues re: Dex's sexuality. It didn't go so well.

Dex used his spoon to move his oatmeal around. He watched the clumps of brown sugar dissolve into delicious little pockets, but he couldn’t quite find his appetite. That morning’s practice had been a gruelling one, and he and Nursey had both played like shit -- but Nursey had been worse, and Dex wasn’t just thinking that because he was biased. 

To be completely honest, Nursey had looked awful even before they got on the ice. He was paler than usual, his eyes had dark bags beneath them, and his forehead had an uncharacteristic furrow of tension. It hadn’t exactly been a surprise when Nursey was slow on his skates.

If this was in any way connected to their fight the day before, Dex didn’t want to think about it. Hell, he didn’t want to think about it, _period_. After he’d stomped back to his dorm, his number one mission had been to not think about Derek fucking Nurse or his snarky, smirking expressions. That hadn’t really panned out, unless you didn’t count the long pissed-off rant Dex had composed against Nursey while attempting to cool off in the shower. Or if you didn’t count how he’d been forced to throw his textbook across the room because he was distracted by how stupid Nursey was. _Or_ if you didn’t count the extra twenty minutes he’d spent trying to fall asleep, picking up his angry, imaginary rant against Nursey right where he’d left off. 

But today was going to be different, and Dex had managed not to stare at Nursey’s beaten down expression in the locker room, or comment on his shitty play on the rink, or walk next to him on their way to team breakfast. Today was going to be Nursey-free. He was on a Nursey detox and would only acknowledge his defensive partner again once Dex had achieved pure inner peace or when Nursey apologized, whichever happened first. 

(They’d probably never speak again with these rules in place, but Dex wasn’t acknowledging that either.)

The guys around him were chatting back and forth, but Dex was stuck with his oatmeal. He was such a dumbass for taking all that oatmeal, anyway. Who ate a bunch of heavy, thick glop for breakfast? He should have stuck with fruit and the feather-light pancakes that Mikey, the awesome dude in charge of cooking breakfast in the dining hall, seemed to churn out effortlessly. 

“Man, you look rough. Long night?”

It was Ransom, and a quick glance confirmed that he was talking to Nursey.

“Ugh. You don’t even know,” Nursey said, groaning into his forkful of pancake. Dex gritted his teeth. “I was off-campus last night. Really sucked getting back in time.”

_“Dude,”_ Holster drawled, leaning over. “You getting some? You a frisky little frog now?”

Nursey managed a lopsided grin, and Dex scowled down at his oatmeal again. “I guess you could say that. But it was _not_ chill having to call a taxi at five in the morning. I got like, two hours of sleep.” He grinned bigger. “Worth it, though.”

While a few guys laughed and possibly offered Nursey high-fives -- he wouldn’t know, all he cared about was oatmeal -- Dex white-knuckled his spoon and ground his molars together. Of _course_ Nursey was hooking up on a school night with some girl he’d probably just met. He was rich and charming and hot, and that was a good combination. Still, knowing Nursey was out there getting laid, not thinking about Dex or their big fight, while Dex was losing sleep over the situation was really grating. Dex could physically feel any last lingering interest in eating breakfast vanish as his whole body tensed up, an angry coil ready to spring.

Ransom and Holster were bouncing up and down, shaking the bench underneath Dex, which was also contributing to his loss of appetite. “De-tails! De-tails!” they chanted in unison, drawing the customary glares from quieter breakfast-goers around them.

“Stop,” Nursey moaned. “I’m too tired for this.”

“Did you guys hear that there’s gonna be a petting zoo on campus today?” Dex blurted out, and had no idea what else to say once everyone turned to gape at him. “Like, isn’t that weird?”

They were giving him a look. A look that said _don’t interrupt sex stories._

“Or fun,” he amended. “Bunnies and…. stuff.”

“Whatever,” Nursey said, flashing Dex an irritated look and stabbing a piece of pancake with his fork. “I met him at the study session for American Lit. He’s a sophomore or a junior, don’t really know. Fun, but not more than a one time thing.”

An interesting fact: Dex wasn’t physically capable of breaking the table, even when he was gripping it like the last lifeboat on the fucking Titanic. It was like the inside of his head was screaming, but it was almost all white noise. Nursey liked boys? _Nursey hooked up with boys?_ He had -- Dex had been so completely certain that everything that Nursey had hinted on that subject was a joke, but now -- Nursey liked boys. Did that mean all of their fighting over the past few days could have been -- Nursey hadn’t been flirting with _Dex_ , though, because if Nursey was interested in -- in that, he wouldn’t have been sleeping with someone else last night.

Dex’s mind was springing back to life, a whirl of _does he like me_ and _I’ve been kind of an asshole_ and _I need to be alone immediately,_ and he slowly became aware that the conversation around him had died down. As a few seconds crept by, Dex also became aware of the expression frozen on his face -- eyes bugged out, mouth half open in shock, upper lip curled back-- and glanced around.

Holster and Ransom were giving him identical _dude-are-you-shitting-me_ looks. Chowder was watching him with a forlorn expression, a ketchup-dunked potato speared on his extended fork. Bitty was pushing his food around and looking slightly sick, and Nursey was chewing his pancake calmly.

“William,” Holster said coldly. “You forget to swallow your food?”

It was not fair that they were all thinking he was homophobic just because he was from a working class family while they were all from rich liberal homes; it wasn’t fair that they were all thinking he was homophobic when most of them had never had weirdly erotic dreams about other guys; it wasn’t fair that now Bitty was sad when Dex would never, ever want to make Bitty feel sad. And fuck, it wasn’t fair that Nursey ended up being into guys. That made Dex -- he didn’t know. Uncomfortable, jealous, angry, confused, happy, _something._

Dex raised his glass of apple juice to his lips. “No, I’m -- everything’s cool.”

He choked on his apple juice, which wasn’t actually very cool, then coughed for ten seconds. Fuck everything, he needed to scream or punch a wall or take a nap or drive to another fucking state. Dex got up and walked away, leaving his tray on the table. He needed to be alone, and his mind was spinning too much for him to care what anyone else thought. 

It would have been a better exit if he could stop coughing, though.

\---

“Dude,” Ransom said, his eyes warm with concern. “You okay?”

Holster put his arm around Bitty and gave Derek the same look as Ransom had. “Don’t worry about him, bro. We’ve got your back.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “And, hey, congrats on last night. Again.”

“But if you’re _not_ okay,” Ransom persevered, “I will totally talk to Dex. Like, I will anyway, because that was so not cool, but I’ll talk to him even more severely, you know?”

Derek smiled and looked down at his tray. He wasn’t sure what emotions to feel right now, let alone how to process them, _let alone_ how to ask other people to help him process said unknown emotions. He took a humongous bite of pancake to delay the conversation, which was probably an obvious stalling technique, but everyone was feeling sorry for him so it was fine.

The thing was, it _had_ hurt to see Dex turn his back and walk away like that. But things were so tense between them now, in a way that wasn’t even fun like it had been back when they were frogs, and Derek really just wanted everything to be calm again. Even if that meant not fighting Dex over something that _was_ kind of a big deal.

“Nah, just let it be,” he said, letting his face relax as he leaned back in his chair. “I can check in with him myself. It’s cool.” He wouldn’t say this out loud to the rest of the team, because they might take it the wrong way, but Derek was willing to shoulder at least a little bit of the blame on this one, even if that wasn’t quite right. He _knew_ Dex would be uncomfortable with one of his own teammates expressing interest in him -- hell, at the beginning of freshman year, Dex had been uncomfortable with gay people, period -- but that hadn’t stopped Derek from making his own interest pretty damn obvious. No, it wasn’t okay for Dex to respond like _this_ , but Derek was going to be the bigger person here.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Bitty ventured as Derek continued to sit in silence, and Derek realized he was probably freaking his teammates out. “Just… surprised.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, glancing at Bitty. He was happy to see that his teammate, who was (as far as he knew) the only other person at the table with a personal reason to feel upset right now, seemed completely serene. “I think his head just exploded a little. He’ll be good.”

Lardo suddenly groaned. “Dude, I think my eggs aren’t even cooked. How could Mikey do this to me? I trusted him.”

“You’re bullshitting me,” Holster said. “Mikey would never.”

While the conversation meandered on without him -- thank you, Lardo -- Derek tried to get over the feeling that there was a pit in his stomach. _Dex will be fine_ , he told himself. _So will you_.

Chowder reached over and squeezed his elbow. When Derek looked up, Chowder flashed him a bright grin before rejoining the others’ conversation. 

That was super nice of him, but Derek was _fine_. He just couldn’t decide if it would be better to go find Dex and get this apology over with (not that he had much to apologize for, but, again, _bigger person_ ) or just give the dude some space.

_Just… surprised_. Bitty’s words flitted through Derek’s memory, and he compared this description to Dex’s response. It wasn’t too far off the mark. Dex had looked frozen, yes; shocked, definitely. Whether or not he was _disgusted_ was a whole other question, and one Derek wasn’t actually sure he could answer.

Like very annoying clockwork, his brain suddenly reminded him that it had been an hour since the last time he thought about Dex staring at him in the locker room and, therefore, time to dwell on it again. _Not helpful right now_ , he thought, clenching his jaw.

Except… there was a reason he kept coming back to that stare. There wasn’t much of a way for anyone to _no homo_ his way out of that one -- it was a real, no-holds-barred _leer_. Like, checking Derek out as if he were a bag of groceries. 

The pancake on Derek’s fork suddenly looked appetizing again. He would need to proceed with caution from here (as if he hadn’t been already), but he wasn’t going to make the same assumptions about Dex that the rest of the team seemed ready to make. 

His horrifically embarrassing wedding fantasy flashed across his mind again, and Derek had to smile to himself. _The dream lives!_ It was limping and a little bruised, but it lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek: [has nothing to apologize for]  
> Derek: This only happened bc of me.... I have 2 say sorry  
> Me: [softly] don't
> 
> also congrats to derek for coming out *party balloons*
> 
> Up next: Dex feels angsty; Chowder helps.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Derek came out to the team. Dex kind of freaked out about it.
> 
> This one's a little shorter.... think of it as a pit stop as we continue riding the angst train (destination: nurseydex).

It was too damn cold outside, so Dex was angry at the world. His morning class hadn’t been cancelled despite the couple inches of snow, so Dex was pissed off at the world. His knee felt itchy, so Dex was full of rage, and he might as well direct it at the world.

In short, he had been moody for the past 24 hours. Trying to fall asleep last night, he’d thought briefly about that scene in Disney’s _Fantasia_ when the broom gets yelled at by the wizard for flooding the whole goddamn castle and had literally started weeping into his pillow. When he’d tripped on his way off the rink that morning, he had turned bright red and practically had a meltdown even though he had made certain that he was the last one off the rink and there was no one to see him. 

It was like going this long without fighting Nursey had made him, like, intolerant of it. He was having an allergic reaction to conflict when, just a few months ago, this would have felt totally normal. 

And the _really_ stupid thing was that Dex had already apologized to Nurse, who’d said that everything was fine and had even tried to apologize himself, and that should have been that. But Dex still felt like crap, and Nursey still seemed weird, and the other guys (plus Lardo) seemed to still think that Dex had a problem with Nursey being gay (or bi or whatever -- Dex hadn’t asked). 

Anyway, Dex had felt too uncomfortable to join them for another team breakfast, mumbling something about homework. Now that his morning class was over and he was trudging back to his dorm -- damn the snow, he thought darkly -- his rage was lifting and being replaced by a heavy sense of despair. 

Every step reverberated through his body and all he could think was: _It’s not fair._ Not fair that he was jealous of Nursey, not fair that Nursey could talk about it so nonchalantly, not fair that he felt nauseous, not fair that he didn’t understand what he was upset about, not fair that he was too scared to think about it. And _definitely_ not fair that they thought he was homophobic and didn’t look any closer to understand what was going on underneath.

Dex was just managing to talk himself out of the self-pity parade when his phone buzzed. Chowder, of course -- no one else would want to spend time with him at the moment, not when they could be treating him like a pariah. ( _No. More. Self. Pity.)_

He looked down and read Chowder’s text out loud, mumbling just to distract himself from his depressing internal monologue: “Dexy…. Hey if you’re not busy later it would be super great if we could eat lunch together at Walleye Tav… or just now if you’re not busy…. Smiley face emoji… oh and that’s Tav as in Tavern if you’ve never been there…. Thumbs up emoji…. Smily face emoji…. Would that be okay…. Smily face emoji.” He was mentally exhausted by the sheer number of punctuation marks Chowder had included, but that was typical Chow.

Walleye Tav was a decent place to grab some food, but they generally avoided it because it was, like, Lax Bro territory. For a second Dex wondered if Chowder was bringing him there because he didn’t want to be seen with him, but that was ridiculous so he pushed it aside. More likely that Chowder knew he was avoiding the team and didn’t want to push him.

_Now’s good_ , he texted in response. Chowder responded with a monkey emoji, which Dex assumed meant he was happy.

\---

Walleye Tav wasn’t too busy, so they got a nice booth by a window. Dex was trying to act normal, but judging by the way Chowder kept peering at him anxiously and twisting the wrist cuffs on his Sharks hoodie, it wasn’t working.

“Um. Are you having a good day so far?” Dex asked, pulling up the menu so it could form a barrier between himself and eye contact with Chowder.

“Oh, yeah!” Chowder said, sounding genuine as always. “I love snow! But nobody will have a snowball fight with me, which I get because you all are used to it and have other things to do.” He picked up his menu too. “But that’s okay!”

“I promise to have a snowball fight with you today,” Dex said solemnly. 

Chowder looked up, beaming. “Really? Oh my gosh, yay! I mean, ‘swasome!”

“It won’t be ‘swasome when I pummel you without mercy,” Dex warned. “All those years in California haven’t prepared you for this.”

Chowder laughed, and Dex relaxed. They were cool. 

After they ordered, they only had to wait a few minutes for their lunches to arrive, and they fell to eating in companionable silence, the only noise the sound of chewing delicious fish tacos. 

Then Dex glanced up and saw that Chowder was _staring_ at him while chewing his taco. Chowder immediately jerked his head down and pretended nothing had happened, but it totally had.

The third time Dex caught Chowder staring at him, Chowder gave him a fishy (Dex immediately thought of how proud Nursey would be of that pun, then flinched) smile. “I didn’t even ask you yet… how have you been?”

“Pretty good,” Dex mumbled, pouring more tartar sauce into his fish taco and refusing to meet Chowder’s eyes. 

“Yeah?” Chowder said, sounding unsure. Dex felt bad for him, but he wasn’t going to give him anything else to go on. “Like… just okay? Or really good?”

“I dunno, Chow,” Dex said, sounding grumpier than he meant to. “I’m fine.”

When Chowder did nothing but stare at him with love and compassion shining in his beautiful goddamn brown eyes, Dex sighed and leaned forward. “ _Fine._ You’re worried about what happened yesterday at breakfast. Do you want to talk about that?”

“Huh?” Chowder squeaked. “I mean, if you want to…”

Dex tried to smile. “I mean, it was stupid. I was just taken by surprise when… And it was stupid of me to leave, but everyone was looking at me like I was, you know, a bad person, and I felt frustrated, I guess. But I know it sent the wrong message.” There -- spoken like a mature adult who had never in his life hosted a self-pity party.

“Okay! And no worries! You should just tell them and it’ll all be fine, then.”

“Is Nursey mad about it?” Dex asked, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Or at least that he’d had the guts to make eye contact as he said it. 

But Chowder just shrugged, no hint on his face that he had any suspicions about Dex. “I don’t think he’s mad, no.”

That left a big _something_ left unsaid. “How’s he doing, then?” He hated the apprehension that tinged his voice.

“Um... “ Chowder anxiously stirred his ice water, not making eye contact. “You know. I don’t know.”

Horrible ideas flooded Dex’s brain. Maybe Nursey was so angry that he was organizing a team-wide hunger strike until Dex got kicked off the team. Maybe he hated Dex and had sworn never to enter the Haus again so long as Dex was welcome there. (Maybe Nursey was hurt.) “Chow, you can tell me. How is he?”

“I think he’s sad,” Chowder said evenly, looking Dex straight in the eye.

“Oh,” Dex said, stomach sinking. “What…” He wanted to ask _what can I do_ , but he already knew the answer. He could get Nursey alone, explain everything, minus the whole I-like-your-unclothed-torso part. That part should remain secret in every version of this confession, especially because Dex was probably straight and saying that would give Nursey the wrong idea. 

He just wished that he didn’t have to explain. That Nursey would meet his eyes and everything would click into place and he’d be _understood_ without using words. And admitting to himself that he wanted that was so, so painful, because it wasn’t going to happen and he knew it.

_Enough with the damn pity party,_ he told himself forcefully. He’d had so many today; he was all partied out. And if he let it show, Chowder would probably join in and make, like, pity party favors to hand out, because he was just supportive like that, and that wasn’t fair to Chowder.

When they were leaving, Chowder’s coat zipper got stuck and Dex had to use a winning combination of skill and force to free him. “Thanks!” Chowder said, wrapping his arms around Dex in a hug so warm Dex basically didn’t need to put on his own coat.

“Got your back,” Dex mumbled. And going forward, no matter what Dex chose to do, he knew that Chowder would have his. Even if nothing got better at all with the rest of the team, he was lucky to have Chowder on his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chowder puts up with so much. 
> 
> Up next: Derek "helps" Bitty bake and brags about how many likes he has on Instagram.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Things are still weird between Derek and Dex. Dex went out to lunch with Chowder and felt a little better.

Derek pushed another window open and stuck his head out, letting the sweet, icy breeze prickle over his skin. There were many, many wonderful reasons to hang out in the kitchen while Bitty was baking, but damn if that oven didn’t make the kitchen a furnace.

“Derek Nurse, shut that window,” Bitty said from behind him. “It is a hellish winter day out there, and I will not have snow in my kitchen.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re from Georgia,” Derek said with a sigh as he obeyed. “ _Y'all_ have like, no tolerance for anything below 65 degrees.”

Bitty hummed in response and continued perfecting his brownie batter. 

One of those many, many wonderful reasons to help Bitty was the fact that, if Derek played his cards right, Bitty would let him lick the bowl clean once the brownies were in the oven.

Of course, “helping” really meant taking pictures of the batter, of Bitty’s silhouette as he leaned over to check the oven’s temperature, and finding the perfect filters and captions as he added everything to Instagram. The few occasions on which Derek had _actually_ tried to help, like, the traditional way, had been so disastrous that Bitty had relegated him to photographer and observer. He was so _sensitive_ about eggshells in the batter.

“Good news, the first one I posted already has nine likes, and the second one --” 

“I smell brownies!” It was Chowder, the front door banging shut behind him as he and Dex tumbled into the kitchen. Well, Chowder tumbled; Dex slinked behind as if his tail were between his legs.

Bitty frowned. “How did you smell them if they’re not even in the oven yet?”

“Chowder’s got a love affair with sugar,” Derek said, fond. “If you opened a bag of Pop Tarts he would _know_.”

“Well, what are you standing there for?” Bitty said, his face brightening as he recognized an opportunity to be a host. “Kick your boots off and sit on down!”

As anyone who values good cooking would, they did as Bitty said. Derek was already perched on the counter next to the bowl, so Dex and Chowder had the table to themselves. 

“Nursey’s helping me by documenting the beauty of cooking,” Bitty said, once it seemed like no one else was going to get the conversation moving. “He’s taunting his Insta followers with pictures of delicious brownie batter they can never have.”

“A lot of these likes are more about the _chef_ they can never have,” Derek said, waggling his eyebrows and waiting for Bitty to turn pink. “Look at these beautiful hands,” he added, turning his phone so Chowder can see.

“Oh! Yeah!” Chowder said, his enthusiasm ready and willing to be applied to anything. “And that’s so many likes, Bitty!”

Bitty flushed more, not very good at hiding how pleased he was. “Oh, stop now. Or I’ll eat all these brownies myself.”

Derek laughed while Chowder gasped. Dex still hadn’t spoken or made any sudden movements, as if he was hoping he could become one with his chair. 

“Nursey always gets so many likes, though,” Chowder said, once he’d managed to recover from Bitty’s threat. “You’re like, super good at taking pictures. And you’re so popular! It’s awesome.”

“What’s your most-liked post?” Bitty asked as he sprinkled something delicious-looking into the batter. “Or do I not want to know?”

Derek pretended he had to think about it for a few seconds. It was probably not chill at _all_ that he knew exactly how many likes his most popular picture had. “Probably one of my Dubai pics. Let me check.”

“Derek Nurse, exactly how many international vacations have you _had_?” Bitty asked, his scandalized tone doing nothing to hide the affection in his eyes.

Derek shrugged, glancing at Dex from the corner of his eye to see if he was agitated. If Dex had wanted to make a biting comment about Derek having too much money, he would have been totally within his rights, but nothing came. “A bunch, I guess. We go a couple times a year.”

Now Derek definitely saw how Dex’s eyes bulged forward a little, his expression conveying _Oh my fucking god it’s disgusting how rich you are_ in total clarity. But still he said nothing.

Well, that was just great. While Derek didn’t necessarily _enjoy_ clashing with Dex, he didn’t want whatever was happening between them right now to scare Dex into silence. Feeling a bit dangerous, Derek figured he would push Dex -- just a little, and let up right away if it seemed like he was going too far -- and see if he could get things back to normal. Dex shouldn’t be afraid to speak his mind, not when Dex speaking his mind was one of the best things at Samwell.

Right. _Pushing_ Dex to give him some sass. Derek found the picture he’d been looking for and let everyone have a look. There were several reasons this was his most-liked photo, not that he’d _ever_ put much thought into it. First, it was in fucking Dubai, which automatically got some likes just for being interesting and a little impressive. Secondly, the composition of the photo was actually pretty chill -- everything from the shimmering aqua of the pool to the stark white of the concrete beneath his chair, from the angle at which he was lazily holding his drink to the perfect reflection in his sunglasses made the image work. It also helped that, according to at least six comments, he looked like a fucking Greek god in this particular shot.

“Well,” Bitty said, passing Derek’s phone back, “That sure is gorgeous. I think you have me beat -- the most I’ve ever gotten is around two hundred.”

This one had over five hundred, so yeah, he had Bitty beat.

“Oh, wow,” Chowder whispered in genuine reverence upon seeing the 529 likes. “It looks so nice there.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, resolutely not glancing in Dex’s direction as he barrelled on. “It was a good time.” He pocketed his phone and tried to think of a way to irritate Dex. “All of the international trips are fun, of course, but it’s hard to really enjoy them if you think about it too hard. You know. Imperialism and all that.”

It was perfect, because he actually meant it, but at the same time he had to admit to himself how hypocritical it was for a super-rich-kid to talk about U.S. imperialism as if he hadn’t personally vacationed in dozens of countries affected by this imperialism, participating at times in a pretty disgusting tourist culture.

Also, while he was fully convinced that the point he was making was a valid one, he knew practically nothing about it; it always pissed Dex off when Derek argued about topics he knew nothing about. This was sure to set him off.

But while Dex began drumming his fingers on the kitchen counter, a sure sign that he was feeling pissy, he didn’t say anything. Damn.

“There are so many places with luxury resorts set up for Western tourists while locals are practically starving right around the corner,” Derek added. “Americans need to stop spending their money on tourism and start working with effective charities. Or at least pressuring their representatives to get the U.S. involved in giving humanitarian aid.”

Now Derek was actually a little worked up, so he defiantly (and characteristically) raised his eyebrows at Dex, challenging him to disagree. Normally this was enough to set Dex off, like it was the facial expression rather than the idea that really pissed him off, but not today. Dex continued to watch Derek with an annoyingly calm expression.

“Oh no, that’s so sad,” Chowder said, although it was hard to quite believe he was all that upset when he couldn’t even take his eyes off the brownie batter -- damn it, Derek was going to have to defend his right to the batter, wasn’t he? “I’ve only been out of the country once, and it was to Canada, so I don’t really know what that’s like.”

“Well, I’m not much of a world-traveler myself, either,” Bitty said with a soft smile for Chowder. “Nursey, it appears that honor’s all yours.”

Derek glanced at Dex again to see if he wanted to chime in with his own vacationing experience, but he seemed content to just sit there in silence. “But really, guys, I’m saying it’s not worth it. America has ruined, like, so many countries and cultures that it’s just a major guilt trip.”

Bitty wrinkled his nose at the pun, but Dex remained quiet.

“What about you, Dexy?” Derek prodded, hoping that at least the use of the irritating pet name would rile him up. “You ever been out of the country?” It was shameless bait, and honestly not very kind of him, given Dex’s financial situation, but Derek was just hungry for anything that Dex had to offer at this point. Just, anything that proved he was still in there and hadn’t given up.

Dex propped his chin in his hand, and at that angle the sunlight framed his face _just_ right -- and Derek looked down, because now was not the time. “Nope,” Dex said, his face still worryingly free of tension. “We’ve never really gone too far from home.”

“Ah,” was all Derek could say in response. He slumped down on the counter. It was time to officially give up on getting a rise out of William Poindexter; the boy was clearly trying to tread carefully, and Derek had to respect that. 

But something shifted in Dex, or maybe Dex felt Derek shift from offensive to passive, because the next moment Dex’s eyes got that familiar spark in them and he leaned forward. “You’re right about some of that tourism stuff, though. I read a great article about it last week. Pretty awful.”

Derek met Dex’s eyes, and all it took was half a second to understand that Dex was ready to be friends again. He hoped Dex got a similar message from Derek’s eyes, but as Dex was notorious for misreading Derek’s intentions, who knew. “Dude, you gotta send me a link.”

Then Dex smiled, and Derek had a feeling he hadn’t been misunderstood at all.

When Derek turned to Chowder, his mouth was forming a tiny but expressive ‘o.’ “Chowder, you forget to send Farmer a good morning text?” Derek chirped gently, nudging Chow with his knee.

“Huh? Oh, no.” Chowder folded his hands neatly and rested his chin on top, looking for all the world like an angel. “Never mind.”

Derek caught Dex’s eye again, and he was _grinning_ like this was all part of his master plan. “I totally will send you that link,” Dex said, and he fucking _winked_. “It’s a really thought-provoking article. And since you have some first-hand experience in those countries and you’ve already put so much thought into it, you should let me know what you think after you read it.”

“Okay,” Derek said, tentative. Was this demonic ginger fucking with him now?

But the demonic ginger in question was turning a light shade of pink. “I think you’ll like it,” Dex went on, practically babbling, as if his tongue-in-cheek kissing up to Derek was getting away from him. “The author is really cool. She’s seen it all in-person, like you, and she takes a really thoughtful, critical stance on most issues, you know, like you. Plus she’s really empathetic…” 

“Um, thanks,” Derek managed to choke out. He hoped he wasn’t wrong in imagining another _like you_ on the way. “Looking forward to it.” Derek Nurse: English major.

Derek Nurse: Trying to ignore the warm glow pulsing out from his chest, and valiantly pretending it had nothing to do with the possibility that William Poindexter liked him, that William Poindexter thought he was empathetic and thoughtful.

Bitty coughed, and Derek tried to look nonchalant. “My little babies, all grown up,” Bitty said in a tone of mock-sadness, staring down at the counter, and it took Derek a minute to realize he was talking about the brownies. The second that Bitty had successfully poured the last of the batter into the baking dish, Derek pounced on the bowl.

“Nooooo,” Chowder yelped, and Dex even let out a quiet noise of frustration.

Derek hunched over, curving his body around the bowl like it was his own sweet child. “I was here first. I provided Bitty with my delightful company. I’ve got dibs.”

Bitty gave an exasperated shake of his head. “Derek Nurse, you sat on the counter and looked out the window. I don’t recall much help from you, so stop that hoarding.”

“I would have helped if you didn’t get so sensitive about eggshells!”

“You have no idea whatsoever how to properly break an egg!” Bitty cried, while the other two laughed. _Traitors_.

Derek scooted farther away with his brownie batter. “....They add a satisfying crunch,” he muttered.

“Give that bowl here,” Bitty laughed, and Derek sadly acquiesced. “Now, let’s do this fairly. I want all my frogs to be happy. How ‘bout I pick a number between 1 and 10?”

“Christ,” Dex sighed, as if he already knew he was going to lose.

They ended up guessing, and Chowder was awarded the bowl. And it was silly, but for a moment -- for more than a moment, if he was being honest -- Derek wondered if Bitty had bothered to even think of a number.

\---

Hours later, as Derek was muting the game so he could focus on writing one of the shittiest poems he’d probably ever composed, he had to lie back and just _smile_. Because Chowder had felt so bad when he saw Derek and Dex’s disappointed faces that he’d grabbed two more bowls from the cupboard and carefully scooped equal portions of batter into each bowl so they could split it.

Because Chowder had quickly gained a brownie batter moustache and giggled as Dex and Derek chirped him half to death. (Derek: “That facial hair doeee.” Dex: “Nice, Chowder. Working on your playoff beard already?” Derek: “Bro, you trading ‘stache tips with Shitty? Needs some work.”)

Because Dex had turned his spoonful of batter upside-down over his tongue, eyes sparkling, and leaned in to brush his shoulder against Derek’s. A move that probably signified, _hey, we’re bros again_ , but which had sent electric tremors all the way to Derek’s toes anyway.

Because Dex and Chowder had piled out the front door to have a snowball fight on the front lawn, and watching them through the kitchen window had been so _much_ , especially with Bitty right there, that Derek had made himself wander away.

Having Dex back again was more than having sunshine after a gray day, and all Derek could do was stare at his ceiling and smile. He could float in this buzzing feeling of love, _love_ , without concerning himself with labeling it (love, love, love).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> derek you cheese ball
> 
>  
> 
> Up next: Derek tells Dex he looks like a hockey stick.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Baking with Bitty, Dex and Derek sort of made up, and Derek started full-on pining.

In the pale light of an early winter morning, the love in Derek’s heart was a _little_ less cheesy than it had been in Bitty’s (uh, the Haus’s) kitchen. But just a little. And that might just be because he was sleepy. 

But it was a cold, brisk walk to Faber, and that was more than enough to wake Derek up. He watched the sun alight on the snow banks, creating diamond-like sparkles, and enjoyed the canopy of new snow draped over the tree branches overhead. It was one of those mornings that made him want to stop and say thank you.

_Thank you --_

\-- for the early pink light slanting across the cold sky. He felt like he was living in a photograph, a moment so still and pure that it could only exist as a thought drifting across the mind. And rather than feeling that walking through the stillness was spoiling the morning’s beauty, he could only view it as a gift.

\-- for his roommate, Harrison, who had turned out to be surprisingly not-awful for a business major who played the Sims in his free time. That morning, when Derek had stumbled over his own duffel bag and accidentally knocked a whole row of books off Harrison’s bookcase, Harrison had been super chill about it. Once he realized he was awake and what had woken him up, Harrison had just laughed through his sleep-drool and said, “Whoops,” before burying his face in his pillow and falling back to sleep.

\-- for the color red.

The second Derek skated onto the rink and saw Dex, every ounce of peaceful quiet, of _chill_ , left his goddamn body.

Sure, he hadn’t strolled up the path to Faber internally singing _I’m totally okay if Dex and I can never be together_ , but he’d thought it was kind of a given. Anytime he developed feelings for a boy, that _had_ to be a given unless the other boy was out. 

And now? Now, Derek couldn’t shake the feeling that every cell in his body, every neuron in his brain, was tuned into Dex, and that this uncomfortable sensation would most likely continue until he had a definite answer. Which really sucked, honestly, since he didn’t want to pressure Dex at all.

“Nice jersey,” he said to Dex as he skated past him, because that totally made sense. Derek Nurse: Pick Up Artist.

He could hear Dex scoffing behind him as he tried to pull off one of Bitty’s figure skating spins. It would be lying to say Derek pulled it off, but it would also be lying to say he fell on his ass. He just… wobbled a little.

“Ohhhhh, cool!” Chowder yelped, but it was clear that he was not going to be able to participate from within all that goalie padding.

Derek glanced at Dex, but it seemed like he wasn’t even paying attention. 

_That’s a good thing_ , he told himself sternly as practice started, _since you look like an idiot and need to calm the fuck down._

Calming down turned out to be a harder task than advertised. Dex grunted as he pushed past Derek for the puck, and it was just so _cute_. Dex grinned right at Derek, his smile somehow more blinding than the ice around them, when he tossed in a goal, and Derek felt like turning into a puddle.

When Derek wasn’t allowing himself to melt into a Dex-adoring mess, he was trying really, really hard to be a bro like always. It was hard to remember what that even felt like, all his memories temporarily erased and replaced with a sharp twist in Derek’s heart as he recalled Dex’s grin, his eyes looking down, his hands sifting through red hair, but Derek was trying his best and no one could fault him for that.

Bros made fun of each other. So: “You look like a hockey stick,” Derek yelled in Dex’s ear as he skated past.

Bros joked around with each other. So: “You skate so fast. Like a beautiful, regal gazelle ,” Derek shouted as Dex came back to the net after making a break for it and charging the other net.

If, as Derek suspected, he was really failing at being a normal bro, it couldn’t be denied that bros made small talk. He pulled up next to Dex and said cheerfully, “You look pinker than usual today.” 

Upon two seconds of reflection, Derek came to the conclusion that he was being weird, and then proceeded to trip over his own skates. He didn’t know what possibility freaked him out the most -- that Dex would think he was still mad, that Dex would think Derek had a crush on him and get grossed out, or that Dex would think Derek had a crush on him and like him back.

He wished he could go back to bed.

That wasn’t an option, so instead Derek watched Dex to see if there were any external signs hinting at what he was thinking. His hands seemed to grip the stick more tightly than usual, but then again Derek hadn’t made it a daily routine to examine Dex’s grip. As Bitty glided past Derek with the puck, a move he should have easily blocked, Dex’s shoulders stiffened, but that was probably more due to Derek’s shitty playing than any homoerotic frustration. 

Guilty, Derek swung around and helped Chowder get to his feet. He’d made a fantastic save, really, and Hall had halted practice to give Bitty some feedback. Derek steadfastly kept his gaze on Chowder, knowing that if he turned around there were probably at least three people giving him the stinkeye. 

_I’m only playing like shit because I’m in_ love, he felt like saying, because he was the worst kind of English major.

He knew it was only a matter of minutes before Hall and Murray tore him a new one, and it was all his own fault. Derek itched his knees together and sighed.

Skates sliced through ice behind him; he turned and it wasn’t Dex. It was Holster, with Ransom swooping in behind him. Derek wondered if getting yelled at by the captains was technically better or worse than the coaches doing it.

But Holster lightly rapped his knuckles against Derek’s helmet while Ransom chuckled behind him, and Derek managed to stop feeling sorry for himself long enough to know that these were his friends, and they just wanted to understand him and help him. 

“You okay, man?” Holster asked, his face even more serious than usual.

The answer was either _no, not at all_ or _I’m in love_ , so Derek elected for the more casual, “I don’t know, I’m just… distracted.”

“Dude, we can see that,” Ransom said with a laugh, and Derek practically felt his heart stop. Did they see that he was distracted over _Dex?_ Because there was a big difference between them knowing he was bi and them knowing that he’d spent the entire practice ogling one of his teammates. A big fucking difference.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and valiantly did not turn pink as he watched Dex pull his helmet off and squirt a red stream of Gatorade into his mouth. He looked so tired but so content and loose at the same time… 

Yikes. Derek pulled his attention back to his captains. Ransom was saying something encouraging about shaking it off and starting fresh, but Holster was giving him a _look_. 

Derek clamped his teeth around his mouthguard and surrendered himself to death. That look had single-handedly defeated his will to live.

“You’ve got this, bud,” Ransom said, and squeezed Derek’s shoulder before skating back to his side of the rink. Under normal circumstances this would have warmed Derek’s heart, but now he was just praying for the ice to open up under him and take him away from everything.

Instead, Holster looked down at his skates and sighed. “Look, Nursey. You’re a d-man. And that means something.”

“Mm-hmm,” Derek squeaked back.

“When you’re playing, you can’t be Nursey. Not like you are off the ice,” Holster explained. “You’re not just you. You’re half of one whole -- that’s what it means to be a d-man.”

“Right,” Derek said, nodding with far more enthusiasm than he felt. “Thanks, man.”

“Bro, I am _not_ done,” Holster said. He paused and licked his lips. “Part of your job is to think about your partner. You gotta always know where he is, what’s doing, what he’s gonna do. But you’ve gotta find your zone and stick to that zone, you know? If your thoughts are distracting you, if your emotions are distracting you, you have to chase those out and just find your zone. It can be hard to do, but you have to just focus on the game and what your partner needs from you in the moment.”

Derek blinked. “Um.”

“Just think of him as your other arm,” Holster instructed. “And Nursey. Buddy.” He pulled Derek in for the fastest hug ever recorded. “Don’t worry about things out of your control, you know?”

Derek felt warm under his skin, like he’d been looked at and seen in ways he couldn’t control -- but, maybe, like that same understanding had been offered back as well. “Thanks, dude,” he said, screwing his mouth to the side and keeping his eyes down. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” Holster said, then turned and skated away.

Derek stood and felt himself settle back down into his bones. Yeah, he was probably in love with Dex, and there was a very good chance Dex wouldn’t be interested or willing to be with him. _Yeah,_ he was going to take this conversation -- and the understanding look in Holster’s eyes -- as a hint that Holster wanted to be with Ransom. They were all part of the same team, and like Holster had said, while they were on the ice they had to forget all their individual feelings and desires. 

Yay, hockey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Derek dances on a table; Dex sweats.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Derek's not dealing with his pining very well; Holster knows from personal experience how tough this is.
> 
> FYI, this one takes place at a kegster, so there's plenty of alcohol involved. There's also a couple uses of the word "slutty," albeit in a friendly way.

Looking back, Dex was pretty certain this had been the worst week of his sophomore year. So far, anyway, since things could always find a way to get worse. 

Embarrassingly misinterpreted staring, embarrassingly misinterpreted surprise at finding out your good friend wasn’t straight and hadn’t told you, fucking _Shitty_ emailing him an article called “The 10 Things Straight Allies Need to Understand,” and now, just to end the week on a high note, they’d lost their game.

Afterward, slowly phasing from hockey to party mode in the locker room, Chowder had been so morose that the others had practically needed to mop him off the floor. Holster was cursing with rage in the bathroom, and Ransom had to go calm him down. Even Nursey, who normally was so composed after a loss, looked droopy, but then again he had seemed out of it all week. Dex didn’t want to think about whether or not that was his fault.

But, win or lose, they were hosting a party at the Haus after the game, and maybe it was just the tub juice doing its magic, but the whole team seemed happy that night. Dex watched with some concern from across the room as Derek joyfully shook his ass while standing on a table. 

“Are you sure this was a good idea?” Dex said to Lardo, downing his own cup of juice with a grimace.

She shrugged. “Dude, he’s not a freshman anymore. He’s a _man_ now. If he wants to be an idiot in front of sixty of his classmates on a Friday night, he can.”

Nursey Patrol had been officially disbanded, mostly because Nursey had earnestly told the team that he _always_ got drunk and danced on tables, it didn’t embarrass him, he didn’t care if people filmed him, and everything was chill. Still, Dex had made Tango help him Nursey-proof the Haus before the party started by placing pillows (mostly taken from the tadpoles’ dorms, obviously) next to the coffee table and any other surface that an intoxicated Nursey might climb onto.

So far, Nursey hadn’t fallen off, but Dex wasn’t sure how long that would last. The combination of tub juice and overly exuberant dancing would probably take him down sooner rather than later. That was probably why it was hard for Dex to focus on the conversation taking place around him -- he was hanging out in the corner with Lardo, Tango, Whiskey, and Chowder, and they had been talking about the new Leonardo DiCaprio movie five minutes ago, but at this point Dex had no clue what they were talking about. All of his attention was on Nursey.

Watching Nursey’s feet land dangerously close to the edge of the table was an addictive mix of entertaining and mildly frightening, but eventually Nursey’s ridiculous dancing pulled Dex’s attention upward. It was possible that Nursey was a good dancer when he was sober, but with this much alcohol in his system he seemed sloppy and unfocused, switching from one dance style to another too fast, always on the verge of tripping over his own feet. 

And -- it seemed like he was trying to make up for this by dancing, um. Sexily. Erotically. But not seductively -- he was laughing at himself, drunk and alone and acting sexy as a joke. Dex kind of wanted to murder him.

After a few minutes of various forms of ass-shaking, hip-grinding, and (God help us all) table-humping, Nursey left that life behind and tried something new. Still gyrating his hips, Nursey slowly lifted his shirt to expose his abs. They were very well-developed, Dex thought from a distant place in his mind. Not quite in six-pack territory, but close. 

When Nursey, laughing, licked his hand and started rubbing it across his abs in time with the swivel of his hips, Dex could almost feel his brain shut down. Nursey’s stomach was just so shiny and _glistening_ , and seeing his hand moving over that sweat and skin and hair was -- interesting.

It was only when Dex realized he really needed to inhale -- oops, he’d stopped breathing -- that he was able to tear his gaze away. He gritted his teeth and glanced up at Nursey’s face, only to feel his stomach drop because Nursey was _looking right at him._

And now Nursey was bopping his head lazily, his boozy grin plastered across his stupid face and his stupid abs still shining with sweat in the low lighting. He turned around, bent over, and shook his ass at the ceiling.

 _He’s drunk_ , Dex told himself, catching his breath. _He’s too drunk to even notice you, let alone get the wrong idea about why…_ Why he was staring? He wasn’t sure what to call this. Maybe just… admiring an objectively nice set of abs. When someone with great abs pulled up his shirt, licked his fucking hand, and started _caressing_ himself, it was normal to stop what you were doing and look. 

But Dex still felt a thrill of adrenaline, like someone was going to call him on it, make a big deal of it. Connect this to the other unfortunate moments of the week. Make assumptions.

Which was stupid, because Nursey’s abs were so good and his dancing was so sexual that everybody had to be staring, but still.

And then, as Nursey straightened up and tried to sexily spin around, he slipped and fell right off the table. He landed perfectly on the pillows that Dex and Tango had laid out in advance, but Dex still felt his heart in his throat until Nursey sat up and started laughing.

“Christ,” Lardo sighed from next to him, which made Dex jump because he’d kind of forgotten they were there. 

Before any of them could do anything, though, Holster pulled Nursey to his feet, swatted him affectionately, and forcefully dragged him into the kitchen. 

“I guess Nursey Patrol is back,” Chowder observed from behind Dex. 

Dex nodded, and let himself follow the weirdly magnetic force that told him to trail behind Holster and Nursey. Maybe Nursey was hurt and just hadn’t shown it.

But in the kitchen, it seemed like he was just fine. Holster was shoving a bag of pretzels in Nursey’s face; Nursey was stumbling into the kitchen counter and giggling. “Eat these right now,” Holster said. “You’re a goddamn mess.”

“I don’t _like_ pretzels,” Nursey whined.

Holster gaped at Dex, then Nursey. “The fuck are you talking about? I’ve seen you eat pretzels. I’ve _seen_ you.”

“No,” Nursey said, pushing the bag back at Holster.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Holster sighed, but he pulled a bag of pizza rolls out of the freezer and started heating them up. “I hate you when you’re drunk, Nurse.”

Dex drifted toward the kitchen table, which was littered with empty bags of chips and, ew, a condom wrapper. He might as well find something to do, so he started cleaning it up.

The microwave dinged, and Holster thrust the plate at Nursey. “Eat these, and I swear to god if you whine about it, I’m going to kill you. With…” He glanced around the kitchen. “A spatula.”

Nursey made an _mmm_ sound, and, cradling the plate against his body like it could be taken at any time, settled down at the kitchen table. Not at all bothered by the fact that Dex hadn’t removed the condom wrapper yet.

“Dex, make sure he eats those,” Holster instructed, and left the kitchen.

Oh no, now Dex had to sit by Nursey and watch him. It was probably the tub juice talking, but he didn’t even feel too annoyed about this turn of events.

“I’m going to eat the pizza rolls,” Nursey informed him, struggling to get his tongue around the words ‘pizza rolls.’ Dex just grunted and tried to pretend that he wasn’t transfixed by watching Derek fucking Nurse eat a plate of fucking pizza rolls.

The problem was that Nursey was eating the pizza rolls far more sensuously than any person had the right to eat pizza rolls. While he chewed the one in his mouth, he held the next roll delicately, running his fingers lightly over its surface. Dex hadn’t noticed Nursey’s fingernails before.

He swallowed his first pizza roll with an exaggerated shiver. “Ooh, hot,” he mumbled to himself, tapping his throat, but he didn’t wait for them to cool off. He just popped the next one in his mouth. 

Derek Nurse, drunk and chewing a pizza roll, was… surreal. He chewed slowly, eyes closed, and made _noises_. Because apparently he couldn’t limit his sexual drunkenness to his dancing, because he was the _worst_. He lifted his index finger to his mouth and sucked on it for a moment, which was _stupid_ and made no sense because there wasn’t even any food on his finger. Dex stared at him furiously and felt his body heating up with anger. 

Nursey was eating pizza roll #7 when Dex realized that, once again, he’d been caught staring. 

_Christ._

Dex scowled and got up quickly, his chair scraping the kitchen floor with a truly awful sound. He couldn’t think of anything to say, even though Nursey totally deserved to be chirped for being such a messy drunk, so he just bolted from the kitchen.

God, he really, really hoped that Nursey was too drunk to think much about this. Or remember it in the morning. He knew how it looked -- like he was giving Nursey the grumpiest bedroom eyes ever -- but that wasn’t it at _all._ He just was, like, a scientist. Observing. It would be great if Nursey saw it that way, but Dex had a feeling he wasn’t that lucky.

Nope, Nursey was probably going to remember this in the morning and think Dex had a pathetic, sad, gay crush on him. 

Dex was moving to Canada.

\---

Derek was lying sprawled across the couch, his head in Wendy Elliott’s lap. His brain felt like a sponge -- a sponge full of alchohol, that is -- and his body was floating in an inebriated haze, but he couldn’t shake an overwhelming feeling of sadness. Moroseness. Woe.

“Ughghg,” he mumbled into Wendy’s knee. 

“You’re chatty.”

“Blegh.”

She sighed and combed her fingers through his hair, mom-style, which sort of made him feel like he was going to fall asleep. “All that slutty dancing finally wore you out?”

“Don’ say shlutty,” Derek mumbled.

“Don’t be slutty, then.”

“That’s not… how it works,” Derek said, although he didn’t particularly care much about her word choice. It wasn’t like that was a word that had much of a history of being used against men, anyway. But he was drunk, so he couldn’t really control his mouth. “You shouldn’t say it. Bad word.”

Wendy gently tugged on his hair. “Telling me what to do is homophobic.” She used that joke a lot. Derek realized he should just tell her he was bi, as there was basically no way he could imagine that conversation going badly with the nicest lesbian in the world, but he should probably wait until he was sober.

“Wendyyyyy,” he groaned.

She froze. “If you’re going to puke, get off me.”

“I’m not going to puke, I just…. There’s this boy I like…” Waiting until he was sober had been such a good idea. Too bad a big part of not being sober was like… impaired judgment. Shit.

She went back to petting his hair. “Really?”

“Doubting my sincerity--” Derek was proud that he could pronounce that word so clearly, even if it technically came out as _sinsherity_ \-- “is homophobic. Biphobic.”

“I’m going to strangle you. You’re too drunk to stop me.”

“Biphobic.”

He couldn’t see her face, but he thought he heard a soft laugh. “So there’s a boy you like.”

Derek whined in response.

“Do I know him?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

She patted him on the temple. “We’ll get there.”

Derek shut his eyes, willing the alcohol in his bloodstream and the soothing hand in his hair to lull him to sleep, but his brain clearly hated him and wanted him to think about Dex. As if there were anything else he’d been thinking about all week.

So, Dex had been blatantly eye-fucking him. Derek had felt pretty confident in this assessment back when he first saw Dex staring at him in the locker room, but after tonight it was undeniable. There’d been a moment when Derek was dancing, although it had been so dark and chaotic in there that Derek hadn’t quite trusted his perception of things, but in the kitchen? Dex had been _hungry_. Like Derek was a pizza roll that Dex wanted to swallow whole.

His figurative language needed work, but he was pretty fucking drunk.

“Why is life so homoerotic,” he whined, the last word garbled on his numb tongue. 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

Derek noticed that he’d drooled on her jeans, but hopefully she wouldn’t notice that. “Homoerotic. As. Fuck.”

“Homoerotic’s good, sweetheart. If you liked a boy and things weren’t homoerotic, you’d really be fucked. Literally. Wait, no, the opposite of literally.”

He rolled over so he was facing upwards. “It’s _bad._ I’m a bad person. I’m supposed to leave things alone and not mess with our _mojo.”_

Wendy wrinkled her nose. “I can’t believe you said mojo. You deserve to be single forever.”

“I’m the _worst_ ,” Derek cried, and hoped he looked suitably pitiful. He had long ago accepted that the three stages of Drunk Derek were wanton behavior, cuddliness (or clinginess, depending who you asked), and childish whining. Wendy was, like, super nurturing, so she’d really walked right into stage three Drunk Derek.

She smoothed his hair back. “Well, yeah.”

“Don’t let me fall in love with someone who’s twenty fucking miles into the closet, Wendy. Don’t let me do it.”

“Why don’t you just reflect on this situation when you’re hungover and regretting all of your choices,” Wendy suggested happily. Damn her for never drinking. “Then you’ll probably discover that what you’re calling ‘love’ right now was mostly alcohol.”

“It’s _not.”_

“Well, alcohol and some really good Frank Ocean songs,” she allowed. “Ransom and Holster do have good taste in music. Bud, you’re going to be fine.”

“Your heart is cold,” Derek pouted, but he could barely get it out around the humongous yawn that suddenly took over his face. “No romance.”

“None,” she agreed. “Shut up and sleep it off. Your head will hurt in the morning and you’ll move on to someone who isn’t fifty miles deep in the closet.”

“ _Twenty_ ,” Derek corrected, injured. “Fifty would be… beyond hope.” 

“Or,” Wendy added, and Derek could _tell_ she was teasing him, because she had no pity on him when he was so small and helpless, “your amazing dancing will have totally pulled him right out of the closet. Who could resist that.”

“Maybe it did,” Derek mumbled, feeling a warm sense of sleep creeping through his limbs. “I’m a really good dansher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Holster and Ransom start a new tradition.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Derek got drunk and flirty. Dex was somehow able to get really turned on AND think of himself as straight all at the same time. (You can do it, bud.)
> 
> Notes for this chapter: Includes a positive coming out experience, with minimal references to homophobia.

Derek’s head was pounding. Which wasn’t fair, because he’d had a hangover on Saturday and a migraine on Sunday, so _of course_ now that it was Monday, he’d fallen during morning practice and probably concussed himself. (Their trainer had said something along the lines of “skate it off, dude,” but it _hurt_.)

So when Holster interrupted team breakfast by picking up his glass and loudly clanging his fork against it, Derek groaned and clamped his hands over his ears. “Damn you, Birkholtz,” he muttered through clenched teeth. 

“Listen up!” Ransom called out, tenting his hands under his chin and looking way too happy for this early in the morning. “That means put your book away, Whiskey!” When everyone was paying attention, or at least not visibly sleeping, Ransom continued. “As you all know, the esteemed Samwell Men’s Hockey team has many glorious traditions.”

“A myriad of traditions,” Holster cut in.

“Yes,” Ransom agreed, “A myriad. From Hazeapalooza to the symbolic kissing of the ice--”

“--from your first steps as little baby frogs to your final game as seniors--” Holster intoned.

“--these traditions are the same for each group of players.”

“Plus getting super fucking wasted at kegsters,” Holster added. “Good tradition.”

“ _Great_ tradition,” Ransom agreed. “But as your captains, we have made a momentous decision. We have decided to add a new tradition to the Samwell Men’s Hockey team.”

“Mostly because we need to have at least _one_ classy tradition,” Holster said.

“Right,” said Ransom. “And what’s classier than wearing a suit and tie and taking a lovely lady or gentleman of your choice to a fancy dinner on Valentine’s Day?”

“Well, technically, the day before Valentine’s Day,” Holster said. “We don’t wanna mess with your actual V-Day plans.”

Chowder beamed, which Derek took to mean he already had a date with Farmer.

“So,” Holster continued, “Since we’ve only got a few weeks to get everything organized, we want to get a quick idea of who already has a date and who will have the privilege of being set up by the rest of the team.”

“Chowder, you’re taking Farmer,” Ransom said, opening his laptop and probably logging everything in Excel. “I’m gonna ask March.”

“And the rest of us are inexplicably single, correct?” Holster said, peering at each individual face. “Bitty, you’re blushing.”

“Oh--” Bitty only turned pinker. “Oh lord. I’m just thinking about the disasters y’all’ve set me up with in the past. I’m not sure I trust your judgment.”

“Aw, we’ve got you, Bitty,” Ransom said, typing furiously. “Just check in with me after and we can compile all your romantic preferences and find your dream man.”

“How thoughtful,” Bitty said faintly.

“But of course,” Holster said. “Now, to continue. Single? Single? Single?” He pointed down the table one by one. “Nursey, you can’t be single.”

Derek shrugged, while some of the other guys past him looked offended that Holster hadn’t questioned their singleness. “Well, none of my weekend hookups wanted to stick around. Something about me being so good in bed they knew their grades would suffer from the distraction.”

Dex fake-gagged.

“But yeah, put me down on the single list. And I don’t care who you set me up with, like, guys or girls, it doesn’t matter.” It still made his stomach turn a little to say that in front of so many people, but he knew it would get better with practice.

“Sounds good,” Ransom said, typing. “Lardo?”

“Same.”

“Same - what?” Ransom looked up. “Same single? Same…?”

Lardo raised an eyebrow and looked at him meaningfully.

“Oh. My. God!” It was almost sickening, the way Holster and Ransom spoke and clutched their chests in unison. Holster tried to lean over and ruffle Lardo’s hair, but was almost stabbed with a fork for his efforts. 

Ransom, wisely, kept his excitement to his end of the table. “Oh my god,” he said again. “Lardo, this is the happiest day of my life. I can’t believe we went from one gay player -- who I love very much, Bitty -- to having two bi players in, like, one week. Two _beautiful_ bisexuals,” he added, in case his enthusiasm wasn’t clear.

Derek couldn’t help but glance over at Holster, since he was fairly certain the number of bi people on the team was higher than two. Holster caught his eye -- Derek couldn’t read his expression, but then Holster shook it off and fist bumped Ransom. “Yet another way we’re better than the lax team.”

“And you’re beautiful too, Bitty, don’t get me wrong,” Ransom added.

“ _Hello_ ,” Lardo snapped, crossing her arms and practically pouting. “That was, like, my official coming out moment and you’re being _stupid_.”

“Yay Lardo!” Chowder yelled. 

A beat passed, and then the rest of the team was smiling, patting Lardo on the back, yelling, and in general adding to the long list of reasons why no one at Samwell wanted to spend time with the hockey team. Derek beamed at Lardo even though this was all technically adding to his headache. 

After a minute, Lardo squirmed out of Ransom’s crushing hug and smoothed out her shirt. “Okay, I’m appeased. Back to what you were doing.”

As everyone settled down -- a slow process -- Derek forced himself to look at Dex. He was flushed, but it didn’t look like he was happy. Not angry, either. Just -- upset. Maybe confused, maybe about to panic. 

What the hell -- if Dex was confused, Derek was more than happy to help him figure it out. In a perfect fantasy world, that would involve making out in Dex’s dorm room, pushed up against the wall, Derek’s hands smoothing over Dex’s ass (Derek hadn’t thought about this at _all_ ). But in the real world -- the boring world -- helping Dex figure it out would have to be a hands-off process.

So Derek took a gamble and figured that Lardo would be open to talking a little about this. Maybe if Dex heard his friends talk freely about their experiences and their orientations without having food thrown at them by the rest of the team, that would… help? Maybe? “Lardo, when did you figure that out?” he asked.

“Oh my god, I don’t know,” she said, a little embarrassed but mostly laughing. “I think technically I figured it out in tenth grade when I was, uh, hooking up with girls at parties and don’t you guys dare say that’s hot unless you want me to stab you with an actual knife --”

“Dude, we’re not _disgusting_ ,” Holster said.

“That guy down there might be, though,” Ransom said, frowning at one of the dudes further down the table, a guy who mostly functioned as a benchwarmer and was in the middle of elbowing the guy next to him and snickering. “Hey, bro, breakfast is over for you!” Ransom yelled. “You’re being gross!”

Derek watched as the offending party grabbed his tray and stomped away, while a few other teammates clapped. That moment was almost enough to dislodge his headache.

“Thanks, bro,” Lardo said, and she actually seemed impressed. It had been, like, five months since Derek had seen her impressed. “But yeah, I had a few friends in high school who were straight but thought they were, like, experts on everything regarding sexuality, and I guess I let them talk me into thinking I was still straight even though, you know, party hookups. But I figured it out by the time I graduated.”

“Cool,” Derek said.

“It’s kinda funny, because now that I think about it, I can’t really narrow it down to one day, or even one _year_ when I was like, a-ha, I’m bi. I think it was more like, the thought crossed my mind and I ignored it, but eventually I stopped ignoring it? Really gradual.”

Derek was impressed now, too. Leave it to Lardo to come out _and_ confidently describe the confusing process of labeling yourself all in the same day. And at 8:30 in the morning, at that. 

Lardo was looking at him with an appraising expression in her eyes -- Derek realized that she was waiting to see if he was going to volunteer any information about himself, and that she wasn’t convinced it would happen. She wasn’t asking him to share, though; Derek could sit in silence if he wanted to.

And, yeah, he wanted to. He wasn’t going to quickly forget the way his Andover teammates wouldn’t look at him, talk to him, touch him. It had scared the shit out of him to tell the Samwell team that he was bi, and it had gone really well, so now he got to think of himself as brave. But -- that didn’t mean he wanted to go out of his way to draw attention to it, to remind them of it when everything was good and they were treating him like they always had.

Still, Derek knew Dex was scared, too, and that maybe he could help Dex be less scared if he kept being brave. But he also knew that wasn’t his responsibility, and Dex would have to accept himself -- and share himself -- on his own terms. Derek didn’t owe this to him.

What really made him swallow his fear and speak up was looking across the table at Lardo. She had done this; he could, too. “I know what you mean,” he said, ignoring the dryness in his throat. “Gradual.”

“Yeah?” Lardo said, one side of her mouth quirking up, and warm gratitude in her eyes.

Derek had thought about his own process of realization many times, had shaken his head and laughed at himself for ever thinking he was straight, but talking about it out loud was making him feel a little queasy. Hell, he had barely even said anything yet, so it was just the _thought_ of saying it that was making him queasy. But he wanted to do this for Lardo, and maybe for himself, too. “It was hard to figure out, I guess, because I assumed for a long time that everything I was feeling, or thinking, was normal. Well, normal as in straight. Like, it just felt normal to always notice when a guy is good looking as hell, and since that was normal for me, it took a while to realize it wasn’t normal for most other guys.”

“Hey, that’s pretty normal,” Ransom said. “What are -- oh god. Oh god, oh god.” His eyes got humongous.

Holster choked on his waffle from laughing so hard, and they all had to wait for him to stop coughing. “Oh my _god_ ,” Holster giggled, wiping tears from his eyes and laughing harder.

“Okay, chill, Ransom,” Derek said, hoping that Holster wouldn’t mind that he was about to, like, talk Ransom back into perceived straightness. He was just really not up for dealing with that kind of huge realization this early in the morning in the middle of a public place. “I shouldn’t have used the word _notice_. Of course it’s normal to notice people. I mean, I notice when a tree is beautiful, and I don’t want to fuck a tree.”

“Poetic,” Lardo said drily.

“I don’t want to fuck a tree, either,” Ransom said, still shaky and a little on the pale side, but brightening up quickly. 

Bitty wrinkled his nose. “I’m glad we can all agree on that.”

“I don’t know about _all_ of us--” Holster began, tears of laughter shining in his eyes again, but Bitty threatened him with his butter knife, and Holster zipped his lips with theatrical exaggeration.

Derek bit back his laughter. “I’d be pissed that you’ve taken my beautiful story of self-discovery and completely ruined it, but I guess I kinda did that myself.”

“You’re the one who brought trees into it,” Dex muttered, and Derek tried to control his heart rate when he realized that was the first thing Dex had said all morning. Did that mean he was feeling better? Had Derek _helped?_

“And I’ll never forgive you for it,” Bitty said with a halfhearted scowl. 

“Okay, I give up,” Derek laughed, giddy at the realization that he’d talked about his -- his _personal_ stuff, and it had been a normal, fun conversation that didn’t end with people scooting away from him or trying to hide disgusted faces. “Does any of that resonate with you, Bits?”

Bitty gaped at him, and Derek’s stomach dropped just a bit. “But if you don’t feel like talking about it, that is totally, totally fine,” he added, hoping to sound very assuring.

“Oh _no,_ ” Bitty said in a rush, turning pink and opening up in a smile, “I thought you were still talking about trees.”

As the conversation flowed around the table -- Lardo inviting questions, tadpoles shyly asking away, Dex finally folding up this morning’s op-ed instead of pretending to be reading, Holster making obnoxious jokes that Derek suspected were just part of his coping mechanism, Bitty getting a little dreamy and recounting his high school crush on a hot jock -- Derek felt his chest relax, a warm sense of security flowing through his whole body. His old teammates could sincerely fuck themselves, he thought as he accepted Tango’s head against his shoulder (the boy was a cuddler); this was what it really meant to be a team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Dex finally gets on my level.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Lardo came out, everyone was happy, we all were smiling.
> 
> So, there's a lot of internalized homophobia in this chapter. A LOT. (And not as much smiling as before.)

Dex shoved his hands in his pockets as he waited for Nursey to finish up his conversation with Chowder. They were standing around outside the dining hall, each member of the team going their own way as they all moved on to either their first class or, for the luckier ones, back to bed for a little extra sleep.

He had to go to class, and if he didn’t leave _immediately_ he was going to be late, but of course he had a morning class with Nursey and had to wait for him. Because nothing said team bonding like showing up late to get their lab course credit. 

Finally, Nursey waved to Chowder and walked over - far too slowly - and they were ready to get moving. “Today is going to be a great day. A pearl of a day. I can just feel it.”

“Well, that’s just great, Nursey,” Dex said, irritated and inexplicably jittery. As they walked out into the cold air and started the four minute walk to the academic building, he could vaguely hear Nursey babbling happily about how great the day was and how happy he felt, but Dex was fairly concerned that he was dying, or having a panic attack, or something equally unheard of for him.

“...right?”

He could just barely make out Nursey’s voice over the frightening sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears, but Dex managed a grumpy shrug. He made himself stare at a tree they were approaching. _Think about the tree_ , he told himself, jaw clenching. _Just look at the goddamn tree_.

It might have worked, because by the time they got to the tree, Dex didn’t feel like there was an ocean roaring in his brain. 

He picked another tree. 

Slowly, Nursey’s voice came more into focus, although Dex didn’t risk glancing over at him. Nursey was still listing the many reasons he felt happy, which made for a depressing contrast with Dex’s mental state. But they reached the academic building without Dex, like, passing out on the ground, so it was okay.

All he had left to conquer was the staircase up to the main doors. He climbed with a confidence he did not actually have, resisting the urge to grip the railing even though his knees felt shaky.

He made it. Dex exhaled in deep relief when he reached the top of the steps, then promptly felt embarrassed that he felt that way in the first place. And now Nursey was saying something behind him -- “Dude, you gonna move?” -- and for some reason Dex’s heart was attacking his ribcage again.

Dex closed his eyes and made his best effort to catch his breath, to calm the fuck down, to _chill_ , as the asshole still stuck behind him would say.

So when something slammed forcefully into the left side of his body, Dex could feel only a helpless terror, and as his eyes flew open he could only see the world tipping backward as he tottered back on the top step.

But Dex didn’t fall. As he gasped for air, he felt Nursey’s hands on him, supporting him, one on his right shoulder, one hooked under his left elbow. 

Dex watched through a mental fog as the enormous dude who’d bumped into him stammered out an apology, and managed to nod in return until the guy left him alone. It was hard to care about this random guy’s apology when all he could think was _I’m gay I’m gay I’m gay._

He thought he felt Derek let go of him, but it was hard to be sure. Now his knees really _were_ going to give out; he leaned against the railing and let out a gust of breath. 

“Thought I was the clumsy one,” Derek said amiably, and Dex could feel where his hands had been. His right shoulder and left elbow were warm, almost burning, and he couldn’t decide what he wanted more: to wash off all trace of Derek’s hands or feel them there again. And that thought was so horrible that Dex almost fell down again.

“Bro, we’re already late,” Derek said, prodding Dex in the shoulder. “Vaminos.”

Dex recoiled from Derek’s touch, immediately wondered if that was a gay thing to do, and tried to walk normally into the building without hurling on the concrete. _Gay gay gay gay--_

“Hey, are you doing okay?” Derek asked, and Dex could see his hand reaching out again, he was going to touch Dex again, and Dex jumped back.

“I gotta go to the bathroom. See you in class.”

Without stopping to see if Derek heard, if Derek was worried or somehow knew what was going on, Dex hobbled off to the bathroom. He needed to be alone. He needed to be alone.

There were only a few people in the bathroom; Dex moved into an open stall and shut his eyes. He leaned against the wall. His body was heavy; he had that feeling of spinning into blackness that he sometimes got when he stood up too quickly, and it was a relief to let his head sink against something solid.

_Jesus_ , he thought dully. It was amazing how just two thoughts could drain all of the energy from his body, but it had happened. He was gay. He was gay, and he was interested in -- in an actual boy. Years of his life had been able to slip by without this realization. There had been the typical self-doubt at the beginning of high school, but everyone felt that way. _Everyone_ felt that way. That was what Dex had heard, what he’d been told. So every time a sliver of doubt had appeared, every time he had a thought that didn’t seem right, he pushed it away and it didn’t put up a fight. He hadn’t even once thought that it was a warning sign that his interest in girls never went beyond a stomach-churning crush he could only hold onto from a distance; Dex had always been overly logical, too irritable, and it had seemed normal for him to never experience those softer feelings that other people celebrated in movies, songs, public displays of affection.

This wasn’t going to work, this gay thing, but Dex wasn’t ignorant enough to think that would change it, make it go away. He’d taken science classes. It was here to stay. But it was going to have to stay quietly, something locked away where no one could see, because he had a certain type of family, and he had friends who were jocks -- jocks who, despite all their acceptance for Bitty and his baking, might not feel quite as accepting of someone who wasn’t fucking _overflowing_ with reasons to love them like Bitty was. Bitty was Bitty; he was caring, and fun, and made people _pies_. Dex was… Dex.

And even if they would be fine with it, which he thought they really might be, at least on the surface, he was embarrassed. And he was embarrassed to admit he was embarrassed. He tried to imagine the grins when they realized the uptight ex-Republican was (he forced himself to think) _gay_. What it would be like to show up to events -- to the Valentine’s dinner -- with a boy as his date.

He knew it was supposed to make him feel free, but it just made his stomach turn over. 

“It doesn’t matter it doesn’t matter it doesn’t matter,” he whispered to himself, letting the words calm him. He didn’t have to think about this. He would be able to be normal friends with Derek just like always. With Nursey. And as soon as the urge to puke passed, he was going to class and everything was going to be normal.

\---

Later, as he let cold water run over his hands and felt himself returning a bit more to his body, he made himself look in the mirror. He gritted his teeth and lightly ran a hand over his forehead. “Chill,” he whispered to his reflected face. And was met with the ghost of a smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(
> 
> Up next: Derek reflects on the situation.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Dex realized he was gay, and it wasn't a good realization.
> 
> Sorry, this one's very short. I know I called an earlier chapter a "pit stop," and this one definitely is, too. After this there won't be anymore short chapters, promise!

Derek Nurse was not particularly skilled at paying attention in class. And if the class in question wasn’t related to literature or writing? There was no chance in hell that he was listening.

But he was usually capable of at least _pretending_ to listen. Yet here he was, in the middle of a bio lecture, sending basically every signal a person could send that they were mentally somewhere else. He hadn’t made eye contact with the professor since class began. He was alternating between staring intently at his desk, lost in thought, and craning his neck to look toward the doorway. Waiting for Dex to show up. Usually he doodled or scrawled out some pathetic attempts at a poem to make it sort of look like he might be taking notes. Where was Dex?

It had been over five minutes. Derek checked his watch; it had actually been over _six_ minutes since class started. What the hell was going on? Dex was, like, meticulous about being on time. He got pissed if they showed up thirty seconds _before_ class started. 

Holy shit, what if Dex had slipped and hit his head on the bathroom floor? Dex always gave Derek crap about being a klutz, but Dex had his moments, too; it was, after all, the fact that Dex had tripped over the sidewalk and sent Chowder tumbling that allowed Chowder and Farmer to meet in the first place. Oh god, what if he was lying facedown in his own blood? What if he had a concussion? Dex had seemed a little off on their walk to class -- at the time, Derek had thought he was just stressing about the breakfast convo, but what if he was feeling ill? What if he had fainted? Maybe Derek should go find him.

But his train of thought was abruptly cut off when the door quietly slid open and Dex entered the room. 

Derek only had to look for half a second to notice that Dex looked pale, almost wilted, and sunken in on himself. He looked around for an empty chair, not glancing Derek’s way at all, and found a seat a few rows in front of the spot Derek had saved for him. The spot where he _always_ sat.

He’d never, ever sat anywhere else.

Derek felt a lump in his throat, and he stared at the back of Dex’s neck even though it hurt. He wanted to pull Dex out of class, to hug him and tell him to chill -- probably in different words -- and that everything would be okay. But Dex apparently wanted to be alone, which shouldn’t have surprised him. Dex was the type to isolate himself when he was hurting instead of reaching out.

But he was so lost right now, had been for a while. And the worst thing was that trying to help him would just drive him away -- wherever he was in his whole self-discovery, self-acceptance thing, he wouldn’t want to talk about it and would probably start shouting if Derek said anything at all.

_Dex must be so scared_ , he thought. If Dex had realized he was gay, Derek knew enough about his personal life -- and enough about, like, America -- to get why that scared him. If Dex had any feelings for Derek, that would be scary.

Derek tried not to think about _that_. It was probably narcissistic. And unlikely to go anywhere.

If Dex had fully realized the extent of Derek’s feelings for _him_ , well, then that was extraordinarily embarrassing, and unfortunately might also be an explanation for why he was so scared. Maybe because he was so busy stressing about his newly found orientation and didn’t want to deal with it. Maybe because he was still in denial about himself and felt uncomfortable with Derek. 

But no matter what Dex was scared of, Derek reminded himself of two things.

First, that he was done wondering if Dex was straight. He had sensed so many signs that this wasn’t the case, including three separate occasions where Dex looked like he wanted to rip Derek’s clothes off, and it was officially a waste of time to host an internal debate that kept reaching the same conclusion. He needed to approach this situation with the assumption that Dex was either bi or gay and was really struggling to come to terms with that.

Second, that his own job was now to be Dex’s #1 supporter. That meant no more little hints and signs that he was interested. Maybe in a few years things would pan out and he could be with Dex. Most likely, nothing would ever happen. But right now, in the real and immediate present, Dex was having some kind of internalized breakdown, and he needed a friend, not a fucking suitor.

Their friendship was important. Making sure Dex didn’t self-combust was most important of all. 

Plus, there were other people out there for Derek to date. If he wanted to. Hell, he could vaguely remember being attracted to a few people in this very class. He couldn’t remember who they were, but he could figure it out.

_I’ll get over him_ , he told himself. _And I’ll be there to listen when he’s finally ready to talk_.

Once, what felt like a decade ago, he’d thought that being friends with William Poindexter was an impossible task. Now he almost felt that way again, albeit from the completely opposite direction. But if he’d been able to stop hating Dex in order to be his friend, finding a way to stop loving him shouldn’t be impossible either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Dex talks to his mom.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Dex realized he was gay and was not thrilled about it. Derek has a good idea of what's going on with Dex, and wants to be the best friend he can be.
> 
> This should be the last angsty chapter, and is basically a fuller look at the internalized homophobia Dex experiences, as well as more of an exploration of where it comes from. In other words, warning for homophobic family members in this one.

Dex was sweating even though the sun was down. It was 10 P.M. and his stupid engineering textbook was wide open, but the words were swimming before his eyes. He had a headache. He had been studying for an hour, taking meticulous notes and highlighting key passages, but a phone call from his mom had interrupted all that.

Sighing, he leaned back in his desk chair and let his mind go blank. His mom was just talking about his little sister’s science fair project; he didn’t feel like he really had to pay attention. 

Dex minimized the window he’d been typing his notes in, giving his eyes a rest from the violent white light of the page, and ran his fingers over the sticky residue next to the mousepad, where he’d peeled off his old Samwell Republicans sticker. It would be so easy to buy Goo-Gone and get his laptop’s old smoothness back, but he kind of liked being able to feel what had been. It calmed him, and it reminded him of how he’d changed in the one and a half years he’d spent as a Wellie.

“And how have you been, sweetie?”

Dex was glad his roommate was spending the night in the city, because now he was able to talk to his mom on speaker without feeling self-conscious. “Pretty good.” That was about as far from the truth as you could get, but he couldn’t talk to her about... any of this.

“Well, that’s good. Anything interesting going on over there? How are your grades?”

“My grades are good, Mom. They always are.” Dex sighed and tried to rein in some of the frustration in his voice -- he didn’t need to take this out on her. “Yeah, I guess we have some fun stuff coming up. Justin and Adam are planning a team thing for Valentine’s. We’ll see.”

“Valentine’s! That will be fun. Do a bunch of the guys have girlfriends, or are they too busy?”

Dex double-checked his memory, and was struck by how weird it was that barely anyone on the team was seriously dating. If he ever needed love advice, he’d have to look for it elsewhere. “Rans-- Justin has a girlfriend, I guess, but as far as I know all the other guys are either single or just… whatever. Dating around.”

She made that little clucking sound that used to embarrass him when his classmates came over for school projects. “That’s a shame. You boys are all such catches, there should be girls lining up for miles." 

“ _Mom_ ,” he groaned, feeling a clench of -- shame, maybe, or another unnamed pain, something twisting in his chest. “That’s not -- not everyone on the team even likes girls.”

“Dex, _really._ ”

“ _Really,_ Mom. A junior on the team is gay. He’s totally out.”

She paused, and Dex tried not to imagine the look on her face. “Well, okay, there’s one. But for the rest of you, girls should be lining up. I’m sticking to that.”

This was fine, and he really should leave it there. But. “There could be more than one. Out of twenty-three guys, there probably is. And it’s Samwell.”

“I know it’s Samwell,” she said tightly, “but I don’t think there’s going to be a lot of people like that on a hockey team. I’m surprised there’s one on the team to begin with.”

“Oh my God,” Dex muttered through clenched teeth, and put down the pencil he was playing with for fear of snapping it in half.

“Dex, you know how I feel about using the Lord’s name in vain,” his mom said, but she sounded light, less tense. “Do you have a date all planned for this big night, then?”

He moved with the momentum of the conversation, willing to fall into a more comfortable rhythm if she was. “No, but the captains are setting everyone up. It’ll be fun.” He had absolutely no expectation that it would be fun, but that wasn’t really the point.

“Well, you’ll have to tell me all about it when they find you a date. Your dad and I will -- what do you call it? Facebook stalk her. We’ll Facebook stalk her.”

“Moooom,” Dex said, smiling through another twist in his chest. They’d never be this excited about him dating -- someone he wanted to date. “Don’t do anything weird.”

“I won’t, but I can’t promise about Dad.”

_“Mom."_

“Oh, and another thing, honey. We’re in charge of hosting the family reunion this summer, remember?”

She didn’t sound particularly devious, but Dex still felt wary that she was angling for something. “I’m not juggling for the kids, if that’s anywhere on your agenda.” He was still embarrassed that he’d taken juggling classes in fourth grade, and didn’t appreciate his parents’ constant-ish attempts to make him break out the old balls and clubs.

“That’s not what I was going to ask you, but now that you mention it…” She laughed. “No, sweetheart, I’m taking a vote about where to hold the reunion. You’re the tie breaker.”

“Wow,” Dex said, smiling through the sarcasm. “I’m so honored.”

“I’m glad. The choices are: the pavillion at Circle Lake, out on the patio at Jimmy’s Bar and Grill, or picnic in the Public Garden.”

“Jimmy’s,” Dex blurted out, his mind awash in images of the best fucking burgers he’d ever eaten. “You sure they can fit us all, though? We’re kind of a… clan.”

She laughed softly. “We’ll make reservations, don’t worry. And Sarah’s family won’t be able to make it this year, which makes a big difference. But Bill and Danny’s families will be there, plus your grandma and all those Morris cousins.” She was not a big fan of the Morris cousins.

“Right.” Dex ignored the heightened beating of his pulse; swallowed. “No one else is coming?”

“Oh, your Aunt Valerie. She’s flying in from Alaska with this year’s boyfriend.”

“That’s good,” Dex said, knowing he was not going to be able to stop there. It was like word-vomit, as his 15 and 12-year old sisters would say. “What about Uncle Andy?”

Silence.

He hadn’t seen his Uncle Andy since he was in the seventh grade. A short visit, during which Uncle Andy stayed at a nearby Holiday Inn even though the Poindexters always let visiting relatives and family friends stay in their home.

“You know he’s not going to be there,” his mom finally said. “And I’m tired of discussing this.”

“We’ve only talked about it one time, Mom,” he said, chewing on the inside of his cheek and willing his heart to slow down. “It just seems stupid.”

“It doesn’t matter how you feel about it, Will; the rest of the family doesn’t want him there.” She sighed, a sharp burst of breath that came out of the speakerphone like static. “He’s doing just fine in San Francisco. He doesn’t need to come to our little reunion anyway.”

Dex ignored the lump in his throat about as well as he’d ignored every other stupid thing his body had done during this stupid conversation. “He should still be invited. It’s a _family_ reunion. He’s family.”

“He barely is, honey. They all cut him off. So let’s just leave it alone, alright?”

That was what he’d always done. He wished he still could, but it was like an outside force was dragging him along, compelling him to ruin their conversation. “I don’t care what the rest of the family did. It’s stupid. It’s embarrassing. Should I tell my friends that my dad cut off his own brother for being gay? It’s 2016, Mom, people will think that’s awful, and they’ll --”

“I don’t care what your new friends think, William, I care about what our family thinks. And you’d better not go talking about this with your friends; we made it very clear that this is our personal family business.”

“It’s just stupid,” Dex said. His voice sounded weak, emotional to his ears. He hoped his mother didn’t hear it.

“You might think it’s stupid, but the Morrises have some very small boys in their family now, and they have the right to make sure their children are safe.”

“Oh my _god_.”

“William Poindexter, this is the second time in this conversation that I’ve told you not to use the --”

“Mom, I’m going to hang up on you.”

“I just don’t understand what’s going on with you, Will. Why are you bringing those… topics into every conversation?”

He didn’t pretend not to know what _topics_ she was talking about. But he did try to pretend that he didn’t feel like he was about to throw up. “It’s not every time, Mom,” he said, somehow, still weak, possibly about to faint. _She’s going to figure it out she knows she’s going to say something--_

“It just about is, hon. But look, I know you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and you’re perfectly capable of thinking for yourself -- oh, do I know that -- but I still am… wondering a bit.”

“Hmm?” It definitely came out as a squeak. He definitely felt light-headed.

“Babe, don’t get mad at me for saying this, but I’m just speaking my mind. This is exactly what Dad and I were worried about when you picked Samwell. I know you want to get along with your friends and feel like you fit in, but I don’t want that to come at the expense of your moral character.”

“My-- what the heck, Mom?” It was a physical strain not to say hell, but she really wouldn’t have liked that. “My moral character is doing just fine. Better than when I was homophobic, anyway.” His whole body still felt tense, wound up, and there was a faint prickling behind his eyes, but the real terror was gone now. He could just be an _ally_ with his mom.

She paused a moment. “That’s your perspective, sweetheart, but you’re still very young. I’m just concerned that you’re feeling pressured and that you’re changing without realizing it. A lot of liberal schools have ways of brainwashing their students -- well, not exactly brainwashing, but you know what I mean -- and you’re a smart kid. I think you’re probably one of the smartest kids at that school. And I just want you to think critically about the messages you’re receiving, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Mom,” Dex said, his voice flat and hollow on purpose because he wanted her to know exactly what he thought of her opinion. “I have a lot of homework to do, though.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Don’t be mad at me. Just think about what I said.”

Oh, he would. “I have to go.”

He hung up quickly, cutting off her _I love you._

\---

Two minutes passed, his thoughts drowned out by the sound of his blood pounding in his head. By the time he felt like a normal person again, Dex wasn’t interested in thinking or feeling anything, anyway.

He just wanted to move.

So he got up, thought about grabbing his coat, decided against it. He put his room key in his pocket, and his ID card just in case, and left the room. He even let the door slam behind him, which felt good for three seconds before he worried about waking someone up. What Dex needed was a distraction. To find someone to talk to.

He’d go find Chowder, but Chowder was probably either on a date with Farmer or hanging out with Derek. And Derek was going to be off-limits for a while. At least until Dex didn’t feel like he was going to pass out every time he consciously acknowledged his feelings.

The best thing to do, Dex decided, was to go down to the lobby area. People would be down there. Possibly even people he knew. _The best thing to do is go find your friends_ , the kinder part of his mind recommended. That part of his mind clearly didn’t understand that when Dex felt this awful, he was liable to get vicious, and he’d rather take that risk with strangers than his friends. 

Someone was coming around the corner. Walking his way. Nolan, a guy who lived a couple doors down -- friendly, really liked disc golf and was somewhat evangelistic in his efforts to get Dex to try it. “Hey, dude,” Nolan said. “Heading out?”

Like he was _heading out_ on a school night, when he had so much studying to do and a small personal crisis to attend to. Dex rolled his eyes and kept walking. By the time he got to the stairs he realized what a dick he had been, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

But the whole world was a dick to him. He deserved to be a dick right back.

So Dex did not walk down the stairs -- it would be fairer to say he stomped. Each step was a comforting jolt through his body, a reminder that he was alive and at least slightly powerful; it also drove any self-pitying thoughts from his mind, which was a nice side effect.

There were a few people hanging out in the lobby, which was what he’d been expecting, but Dex no longer felt sociable. This had been a mistake. It would be embarrassing to turn around and go back up the stairs right away, so he’d have to wait it out for at least a few minutes. Make it look like he had a reason for being here.

He fell into a chair by the windows and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He’d sit for a minute or two, check his phone a few times, and then let out an audible sigh like someone had cancelled plans or something, then head back up to his room. A decent plan.

“Ayy, Dexy! You look sad!”

A decent plan, ruined. The girls at the ping pong table were smiling at him, and he could barely manage a grimace of a smile back. They were Derek’s friends, girls he’d met two or three times when they tagged along for coffee, and whom he normally liked alright. But now was really not a normal time.

“Dextersaurus. Dude. You wanna play after Wendy beats me?” That was -- Ava, her name was, and now Dex realized that he’d also seen her going up to the attic with Ransom a few times last year. Once with Holster, too, now that he really thought about it. They still danced together at parties, though; he was vaguely impressed that she’d managed to stay friends with both of them. She was tall, black with dark skin, a white smile and witty eyes, and long braids almost all the way down her back. The first time Derek introduced them, Dex had been so nervous around her; it was obvious that she noticed every little thing about him and was probably going to turn it all into a hilarious story later. 

“Hey Dex, you home in there?” Wendy smiled at him, bouncing the ping pong ball off her paddle while she waited for him to answer. She was, as Derek would always say, his _lesbian friend_ , which Dex had thought was an offensive, reductive way to describe somebody, but Wendy apparently thought it was funny. She was just as tall as Ava, with light brown hair just the same length as Ava’s, and they were practically attached at the hip. 

They also didn’t even live in this dorm, but apparently it was just his lucky night. 

He gritted his teeth and tried to be nice. Only because they were friends with Derek, and, in Ava’s case, kind of friends with Ransom and Holster. “I’m fine. Just waiting for someone.”

“Who?” Ava asked, and hit the table with her paddle, the loud bang making Dex flinch. “Let’s go, Wendy. Hammer time.”

“Clam down, Ava, I’m talking to Dex.”

“ _Clam_ down? Is this, like, a verbal autocorrect thing? Or are you trying to introduce me to memes again?”

Wendy waved off Ava and smiled at him again. God, he hated that. It was a Disney princess smile, the type of smile he suspected was housing a dangerous mix of pity, understanding, and intention to pry. “Who’re you waiting for?”

“Just…” Jesus, why was it so hard to think of a believable answer? He clenched his hands tightly around his phone. “Someone from class. From my engineering class. We’re going to study for a test.”

Ava had continued to knock her paddle against the table, an irritating backdrop to the conversation, but now she paused. “ _Whoa_. You’re, like, crazy hardworking, bud. Hats off to you, though.”

“You could try living on the wild side,” Wendy suggested. “Like me and Ava. We’re playing ping pong on a school night. Absolute mad men.”

“Mad _women_ ,” Ava corrected, hitting the table with extra emphasis. 

“It’s a meme, Ava.” Wendy turned back to him. “Dex, do you want to play? I’m getting really bored of beating her.” Wendy gave him the Disney princess smile again.

He twisted his mouth to the side, trying to think of a convincing way to mime the whole my-study-buddy-cancelled act without getting roped into socializing. 

“Just serve the fucking ball, Wendy; I’m ready for the ass-kicking to continue.”

“Well, then,” Wendy said, and served. 

Sensing his moment had come, Dex glanced down at his phone and groaned, sliding it back into his pocket. He got up and quickly moved back toward the door to the stairs. “See you later,” he called out, trying for a tone that brooked no argument. “They cancelled. But I’ve still got a bunch of studying to do, so I’ll see you guys later.”

“Aww, no, play with us!” Ava said, swinging and missing at the ball. “I want to play against someone who didn’t grow up with a ping pong table in their basement!”

“Sorry,” he said, and made a break for it.

The door banged open behind him. Ridiculously, his heart clammered in his chest like he was about to be attacked or something, but it was just Wendy.

“Really, Dex,” she whispered, pulling the door shut behind her, “are you okay?”

God, he knew he’d sensed an intention to pry. He barely even _knew_ her. “Yeah.” He gritted his teeth and tried to look slightly less tense. Oh Christ, she was a lesbian, which could mean that she wanted to have a heart-to-heart with him and tell him to come out or something. “I’m kind of stressed. About my classes. That’s all.” Actually, how the fuck would Wendy Elliott know he was in the closet? And was he going to be this pathetic and paranoid for the rest of his life?

“That really sucks,” she said, and it was a very soothing sound. Not enough to calm Dex down, but still, nice. “I’m gonna try to come to one of your games one of these days. Ava always goes, with a couple of our friends, but I’ve never really been a big sports person.”

“Oh,” he said.

“But I’ll come watch really soon, I promise.”

He stared at her. “Thanks.” It wasn’t like it even mattered to him if she came to their games, but he knew his manners.

“Derek says you guys are, like, partners, right? I don’t really know anything about hockey. Are you partners? Is that what it’s called?”

He imagined his sad, pathetic life in the future. _Mom, Dad, this is my partner_. “Yeah. I guess.”

“That must be so fun, being partners with your best friend,” she said, or, rather, babbled. “It’s always so much fun when I meet you guys for coffee and stuff. I can’t believe you used to not get along at all, seeing you guys this year. Derek mentioned that you guys totally got off on the wrong foot last year, but now I think you seem totally chill together.”

Dex stared at her.

“But I guess you and Derek get mad at each other sometimes. You must be pretty good at working through it, though, to be partners? Right?”

It was very tempting to just continue staring at her until he grew old and died, or to at least snarl at her and demand that she just get to the fucking point, but Dex didn’t think either of those options would be smart. “I guess, Wendy. But I have to go study now.”

“Okay,” she said, wilting for half a second before smiling again. “Bye!”

“Bye,” he muttered, taking the stairs two at a time in case she found a second wind. God, what did Derek say to her? Was he complaining to all his friends about Dex? Was he sad and trying to get Wendy to be, like, his ambassador? 

Dex didn’t want to think about Derek. He didn’t want to think about anything.

So he unlocked his door, flung himself on his bed, and immediately began to think about what it would be like to say the words _I’m gay_ to his parents.

That was impossible. That was something he could never do, unless he suddenly woke up one day and decided he didn’t care about being loved. He formulated several different concepts in his mind, each a different coming-out scenario -- a different timeframe, location, number of family members present, how he would carry himself on the spectrum between proud and confident to ashamed and small. 

But there was no version with a satisfactory outcome. No chance he’d have a positive coming-out experience with hugs and assurances that he was okay. 

This was a necessary truth. He needed to know this, and he needed to remind himself that it was never going to change. If his mom was right about one thing, it was that Samwell was a liberal school where he could be -- like she said, brainwashed wasn’t the right word -- tricked into thinking that the world was a warm, open place where no one wanted to hurt him. And that wasn’t what was true.

He sat with that for a while, waited until he had fully accepted it. He felt -- dry, unemotional, resigned. That was a hell of a lot better than hopeful. In his bed, Dex rolled so he was staring at the cold white concrete of the wall, and he dispassionately debated his future.

Maybe he would never come out. That was an option. He’d still be the same person to his family, albeit the weird adult who lived alone and had to fend off well-meaning relatives trying to set him up, but he’d be safe. The real him, the part of him that was rawest and most connected to his soul, would never be hurt by his parents’ disappointment, shame, words. He could be the quirky Uncle Dex who was too in love with computers to find a wife, not a repeat of Uncle Andy.

Or -- he could just bite the bullet, rip off the bandaid, a hundred other violent metaphors, and tell them. Now. They wouldn’t hate him any less if he waited five years, and, he reasoned, it was possible that not telling them would be more painful than hiding. He could wait until every possible LGBT right was protected under federal law, and every major movie character had his own boyfriend or her own girlfriend -- he could wait until the fucking Pope was gay, but he didn’t think he could ever wait long enough for his parents to stop being homophobic. So why not now?

A flare of anger rushed through him. God, he really should tell them now. Call them, wake them up and ruin their lives. It would serve them right. They would feel everything he was feeling -- his dad would be just as embarrassed; his mom would be just as hurt.

Dex sat up. He picked up his phone, stared at it, and tossed it across the room. If this was the kind of decision he almost made sober, he should probably avoid getting drunk in the foreseeable future. Samwell _was_ a liberal bubble, a brainwashing haven where almost everyone was progressive and tolerant, even if he hated a solid one-third of them and wished they could be less pretentious about it. 

He was living in the goddamn “most LGBTQ-friendly campus in America.” If the next two years were going to be the safest of his life, why fuck it up by telling his parents? After college was over, he’d have to deal with being hated by the rest of the outside world; he could wait until then to be hated by his parents, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPINESS IS COMING FOR HIM I PROMISE
> 
> Up next: Haus party. Derek completely fails to pay attention to anything that's not Dex.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Dex was reminded by a phone call with Mom that coming out would be very scary. 
> 
> Another party in this one, so standard warning about alcohol applies. Also a few sexual references. 
> 
> I had way too much fun figuring out what pop songs would be playing in January during their sophomore year.

The music in the Haus was too loud. Either that, or Derek was too sober. Since he could only control one of those problems, he drank half of his cup of tub juice in one go, coughing as he resurfaced. 

It had been twenty-four hours since he had talked to Dex outside of perfunctory, hockey-related conversation -- “Dude, I’m open” at practice. “Oh, now you can move quickly” when Dex cut in front of him in the line for banana pancakes, because if he didn’t chirp Dex at least once after his ridiculously sluggish skating, Dex would know something was up.

Twenty-four hours of Derek trying to be noble, even though nobility was, historically, pretty low on the list of traits he found interesting. It was possible that these twenty-four hours had been so horrible, so empty and lonely, that Derek was left with no option but to bite the bullet and try to sit down and have a painful conversation with Dex, but he was hoping to give himself another twenty-four hours before making any rash decisions.

As his skin warmed with alcohol, Derek wrapped his arms around Ransom and gave him a friendly smack on the ass. “Dude. You guys aren’t gonna be playing any downers tonight, right? Cause if you are, I’mma need a lot more than tub juice to get through it.”

“Downers?” Holtzy protested, appearing on cue at Ransom’s shoulder. “Our musical selection is above such criticism.”

“We only procure songs of the sickest beats,” Ransom added.

Derek shook his head languidly, relishing in the buzz down his spine that meant the alcohol was really working. “I remember, like, two Frank Ocean songs last time.”

Ransom laughed -- although it would be fairer to say he giggled, because he was cute like that. “Bro, I just added those for Holtzy. He gets so into it when he’s sloshed.”

Hoslter, who was resolutely not turning pink, shook it off. “Here’s the deal, my insubordinate frog. You come back to us tomorrow with feedback on tonight’s playlist, and if you find yourself unsatisfied --”

“-- then you can give us detailed, specific complaints and Excel will come up with a better soundtrack for next time.”

“Dude,” Holster said, “I was gonna say Nursey could just be in charge of music for the next one.”

“Exactly.” Ransom grinned at Derek and gave him an affectionate bop on the nose. “I adore this tiny hipster, but I won’t allow him to tarnish the reputation of our kegsters. We play bangers only.”

Derek rolled his eyes good-naturedly and extracted himself from Ransom’s side. “Whatever, I have the best taste in music on this team.”

“That’s the spirit,” Holster smirked, and began to pull Ransom with him in the opposite direction. “Now go get wasted and shake your ass on a table, dude. It’s been a long week and you deserve it.”

What he deserved was debatable, but Derek honestly didn’t want to dance on any tables tonight. Sometimes he just wanted to get absolutely shitfaced and let loose with obscene, erotic dance moves, sure, but those nights usually ended with Derek passed out and lying facedown on the floor, waking up the next morning in a puddle of his own drool. 

He wanted this to be the other kind of night. The kind where he found himself somewhere between tipsy and drunk, sidled up next to someone gorgeous, and left early to get laid. (A handjob in the Haus bathroom wouldn’t be objectionable either, but it wasn’t quite classy enough to be his first choice.)

Well, he was already tipsy. That was a good beginning. And “Focus” was playing, which was respectable. And good things must always come in threes, because a girl across the room was giving him The Look.

He gave her an obvious look-over and drifted in her direction, and she drifted in his. Apparently her name was Mary, or something that sounded vaguely like Mary; she mostly wanted to touch the tat on his arm and ask him questions about hockey. 

But he wasn’t quite drunk enough to explain what a hockey stick was (he was pretty sure she was trying to get him to say something dirty, but, again, not drunk enough) as possibly-Mary started moving her hand under his arm, inching closer to his armpit -- that was weird, right? -- so Derek quickly downed the last of his tub juice and excused himself. “Gotta refill.”

\---

It had only been two minutes since Derek escaped from the girl-who-could-be-Mary, but when he looked down at the pink liquid in his cup, he felt at least two times drunker.

He leaned against the wall, bending one knee so his foot was pressed against the wall as well, and appreciated that he could multitask -- relaxing while also looking, he knew, sexy as hell. Hey, he was just born with it. And he could chill and observe the party around him, exert zero effort, and probably still pick up.

And, like magic, there was that look again. It was a bit of a surprise to see it coming from a dude who was literally in the middle of making out with a truly beautiful girl just a few feet away from Derek, but he was too familiar with The Look to not recognize it when it was directed right at him. Before Derek could even formulate a mental response to that, the girl pulled away from her date, catching his lip in her teeth as she leaned her head back, and looked at Derek with the exact same look in her eyes.

_I’m too fucking hot for my own good_ , Derek thought in a haze as he smiled at them politely and then got the hell out of there. It was very flattering to be (probably) invited to a threesome with two extremely attractive people, but that wasn’t really his thing.

Or maybe it was, but he wasn’t interested in finding out tonight.

Derek stumbled down the stairs back to the living room, where people were shouting in conversation, making out against the walls, and dancing with far less energy than he would have in their place. “Get Ugly” was just starting to play, and he made a mental note to give Ransom and Holster a thumbs up on that one, at least in terms of danceability.

It took him a few moments to locate anybody he knew, but he eventually spotted Chowder, Farmer, and Dex hanging out on the other side of the room, huddled up in conversation right by the wall. Chowder was standing just behind Farmer with his arms wrapped around her shoulder, head nuzzled against hers, and in contrast Dex looked quite alone.

Going over there would be nice, he thought. Someone needed to poke Dex’s elbow until he got irrationally angry; someone needed to step on his toes until his scowl morphed into a grudging smile. 

_You’re hooking up tonight_ , he reminded himself. He forced himself to look away.

And he made the most awkward eye contact of, like, his life when he found himself staring right at the guy he’d had a one-night stand with a couple weeks ago. The one-night stand he’d been able to use as an excuse to come out to the team. The one-night stand whose name he’d forgotten.

The guy -- Jonathan? Giovanni? -- curled his upper lip at him and turned away.

“Yikes,” Derek mumbled to himself, and downed the rest of his drink. Was that some type of commentary on his lovemaking skills? Or that he hadn’t texted the next day? Maybe in the future it would be polite to DTR in the morning, even if the DTR simply consisted of, “This was fun; never again.” 

Idly, he wondered if he was a bastard. Had he scorned Jeremy? Or whatever his name was?

“Hey, Derek! Little D!”

Marco. From poetry workshop. Who had tantalizingly sculpted hair, a dimple Derek’s eyes had gotten lost in too many times, and a muscular arm sliding around his waist. This was good.

Now if only he could get Marco to _not_ call him Little D, especially when one of his teammates could easily overhear. The thing was, there was this humongous wrestler named Devin who happened to also enjoy writing free verse about how much he loved his girlfriend; since Devin and Derek were both in the same poetry workshop, most of the group had started referring to them as Big D and Little D.

It was nice to see that the nickname hadn’t turned Marco off to the idea of getting Derek in bed, however.

Marco was even drunker than Derek, which made him friendlier than usual, but which also made Derek wonder if it would be ethical to hook up with him at all. He would have to stick a metaphorical pin in that idea and decide later. 

“Dude. Duuuuude. I can’t even look at you right now,” Marco said as he gazed right into Derek’s eyes, his own brown eyes sparkling. “That poem you shared yesterday? It spoke to my soul.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Derek smirked, and tried on his best half-drunken sexy leer. He considered licking his lips, but thought better of it; that kind of wisdom was probably a sign that he was sober enough to consent to sex. He was still figuring out if Marco was. 

“Hmm?” Marco was running a light finger over the nape of Derek’s neck, eyes just a little glazed. “Oh, well, it was really deep, you know? Totally made my walk back to the dorm more depressing. I was like, damn, this snow is so sad. The snow was a… a heavy press on the secrets of the heart.”

Derek groaned in embarrassment, but couldn’t help but lean into Marco. “Glad you found it memorable.” He had wanted to use winter imagery to explore the theme of isolation, which wasn’t exactly groundbreaking, but it had totally spiraled away from what he’d anticipated. His original plan had been to slowly rework the symbols in the poem to be more hopeful by the end, or at least bittersweet, but all of his attempts to lighten the mood had felt cheesy, ingenuine. Which left him with the most maudlin, depressing poem ever.

“Dude,” Marco said, and it was hard to focus on the fucking literary review when he was tracing Derek’s jaw, “the use of empty space alone almost killed me. Embodying the silence you’re writing about.”

“Well, I liked your poem, too,” Derek said, and now he did lick his lips. 

“Really?” Marco said, and his grin was contagious. “Thanks, I worked hard on it.”

Marco’s poem had been -- pornographic. Vivid descriptions of orifices and body fluids and noises equally disgusting and fascinating; he did things with onomatopoeia that Derek hadn’t particularly wanted to know were possible. “I could tell,” Derek said, serious as he could possibly be when he was tipsy and having his face caressed by a hot guy who’d stood in front of him the day before and read a sexually explicit poem out loud without a hint of embarrassment. 

He was leaning into Marco’s touch; Marco’s fingers were tracing his lips; “White Iverson” was playing. _Good job, Ransom_ , Derek thought vaguely. It was hard to keep track of the party's soundtrack when the night was starting to get interesting.

“Hey, I think I really want to kiss you to this song,” Marco suggested.

This was an agreeable idea to Derek as well, and he opened his mouth to Marco’s thumb. In half a moment, Marco was holding his face and leaning down into him. Everything was warm and loose, and Derek could taste the alcohol on Marco’s tongue. 

They weren’t standing by the wall, so when Marco’s body started pushing into his Derek almost fell over, but Marco gripped him at the hips, steadying. When Marco’s hands slid down to rest on Derek’s ass -- not squeezing, just testing -- it should have been embarrassing how enthusiastically Derek squirmed into the touch, but fuck it, he was trying to get laid tonight.

It was frantic, rushed, desperate; it was grinding together and gasping in the middle of a party with no hint of concern for what other people might think or, frankly, any intimate longing or emotional pull toward the other. Marco was objectively good-looking; Derek was objectively good-looking. It would be a very enjoyable night.

Marco kept one hand on Derek’s ass, the other pressing hard between his shoulder blades to deepen their kiss -- their bodies were so close, pushing against each other in all the right places, that Derek was losing any desire to be classy and was almost ready to just go for the bathroom handjob. As the sharp need for sex built, a feeling he could just taste in the back of his throat, he imagined he was with Dex.

And that wasn’t fair to Marco -- not that Marco was really interested in him beyond the physical connection, either -- but it was unavoidable, something conditioned in Derek’s brain by too many quiet moments he’d spent daydreaming about Dex, too many long showers spent constructing elaborate fantasies about Dex. 

And now that he was thinking about Dex, he remembered, like coming up for air after a long stretch underwater, that Dex was _here_. Dex might have seen them, or might see them if they kept going. 

_Not my problem_ , Derek thought experimentally, but it didn’t stick. Because no, objectively it wasn’t his problem and he didn’t need to factor Dex into his decisions about hooking up. But Dex had looked so beaten down, so folded in on himself these past few days -- hell, these past few weeks -- and the image of Dex’s exhausted, sad face was eating at his heart. 

Gently pulling out of Marco’s grip, Derek sighed and told himself that, at least for now, he would avoid doing anything with guys, like, right in front of Dex’s face. Coming out was hard for everyone, but it seemed like it was especially hard for Dex. That shouldn’t be Derek’s problem, but he couldn’t fully enjoy being with a guy in public when he knew it might hurt Dex, and that -- illogical as it might be -- was that.

“Aurhgh,” Marco whined, sounding more confused than anything. “Where’d your mouth go.”

Derek squeezed Marco’s bicep, feeling a tiny thread of regret when he thought about how damn muscular this guy was. _Fucking Dex_. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m too inebriated to keep up with you.”

Marco ran a hand over his mouth. “Uh-huh. _Inebriated_. Something we all say when we’re drunk off our asses.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Damn his vocabulary.

“No sweat, man. You do you.”

“Yeah,” Derek muttered, trying not to think about the likelihood that he would have to do just that if he kept feeling guilty every time he found someone to hook up with.

_No, just guys_ , he thought. Or maybe hoped was a better word. Goddammit, if Dex had ruined sex in general Derek would have to kill him.

“Derek! DEREK!!!!!”

He wished he had more tub juice. That was his secret power, the reason he could enjoy partying in an enclosed space with more than fifty loud, overly friendly people when he was a classic introvert. 

“Derek fucking Nurse!”

But he recognized the voice: a friend. That was something he could handle when he was still just tipsy. Ava Harrison, who he’d met through Wendy. Which meant Wendy might be here, so when he got to Stage Three of his journey to drunkenness he might actually have someone to cuddle with who wouldn’t draw a penis on his face if he passed out. 

“What’s up, Ava?” he said with a big grin, and stole several gulps from her cup. “Wendy here?”

“No,” Ava said, rolling her eyes with feeling. “She doesn’t _like_ parties.”

That made sense to Derek. “And who’s your friend?”

Ava eyed him, probably completely aware of where he was going. “This is Paula. Paula, Derek.”

“What up bro!” Paula lifted her fist, and Derek, bemused, gave her a light fist bump. 

Paula was gorgeous, tall like -- apparently -- all of Wendy’s friends, with long black hair touched with caramel highlights, an openly expressive face, and a laid-back, sporty style. Definitely Latina, not that Derek could really narrow that down to anything specific just from a glance. Her backwards snapback was cute as hell, and Derek thought it would look good on Dex if he ever had a total personality change and stopped dressing like he was at a Bruce Springsteen concert every day.

But this was not about Dex. He definitely needed to stop thinking about Dex. Also, drink more.

“So, Paula,” Derek began, trying not to fall into her amazing brown eyes too soon, “are you a friend of Wendy’s too?”

“Yep!” Paula said. “Super good friends. We’re movie buddies, ‘cause no one else will watch sci-fi with me.”

Derek didn’t know what to conclude from that. “Huh.”

“He’s trying to ask if you’re gay, Paula. Friend of Wendy? Is that like ‘friend of Dorothy’ at Samwell now, Derek? That seems a little offensive.”

“Avaaaa,” he whined. “Not what I meant.” It kind of was, though.

“I’m straight,” Paula supplied. “Although Wendy has explained how sad that is, because apparently I give off a lesbian vibe and I’m going to disappoint a lot of women throughout my life.”

“Paula’s drunk,” Ava added. 

“I’m jealous of Paula,” Derek said with a sigh. Tonight clearly wasn’t going to end with anything sexy. He might as well get super fucking drunk and embarrass himself on the dance floor. 

They danced together, the three of them, which was mostly fun because not a single one of them was anywhere close to sober. In reality, Derek didn’t think Ellie Goulding’s “On My Mind” really lent itself all that well to dancing, but that was something he’d have to take up with Holster and Ransom tomorrow. 

But they had fun; they grabbed new solo cups, already full, from people passing by. Not many people thought that was funny, but the more they did it -- and the drunker they got -- the funnier it was to them. 

“You guys are my best friends,” Derek giggled, but they probably couldn’t hear him over the music. And that wasn’t right, he thought as he shook his head at himself, because he already had a best friend.

As the song ended and “Cake by the Ocean” began, Derek wrapped Ava and Paula in a huge hug, kissed them messily on the foreheads, and wandered off to find his missing best friend. 

“Dex,” he called, not sure if he was being loud enough or way too loud. “Deeeex.”

Nobody pointed him in the right direction, and Dex didn’t seem to hear him, but that didn’t matter because he blinked through the drunken haze and saw Dex.

Dex: alone, leaning against the wall next to the window, face drawn. Dex: his favorite person, the world’s most irritating redhead, someone who deserved to be touched.

“‘Eyy, little Dexter,” Derek murmured, trying to hug him but finding himself elbowed away. “Ouch. So what are you doing over here? You sadass mopey party pooper.”

“I’m looking out the window,” Dex said. Always brisk and to the point, that one. “You look really, really drunk.”

“You still have only one face,” Derek said cheerfully. “So this is -- everything is fine.”

Dex nodded, moved as if he were going to ignore Derek and keep looking out the window, but then turned back. “So. You don’t seem as… energetic as usual.”

“I’ve been dancing,” Derek assured him, leaning against the wall to match Dex’s posture. Maybe also so he wouldn’t sway on his feet. “I’ve been attracting potential lovers.”

“Okay,” Dex said. “But you haven’t done anything really stupid. You haven’t danced on a table or tried to crowd surf.” 

“The night is still young.” Derek yawned, which might have taken some of the impact away from that statement.

“Okay.”

Derek wasn’t sure if Dex was secretly disappointed in him for his lack of theatrics or just glum. “I’m sorry, though. I’ve wasted your efforts with the pillows.”

Dex blinked at him. “Oh. That. That’s fine.” 

Everything about Dex was so measured. His eye contact was brief, avoiding something. He wasn’t quite facing Derek, standing with his back to the wall and looking out at the room instead of angling his shoulders toward where Derek was standing next to him. 

Derek was tempted to tease him, or to grab his hand and drag him around the party until he was considerably less sober and considerably more talkative, but if Dex wanted to shy away from the noise, Derek could do that too.

So. “Did you make any New Year’s resolutions?” 

A pause. Dex gaped at him. “You want to talk about New Year’s resolutions right now?”

No. “Yes. I’m collecting data…. I’m surveying for my…. Personal Studies class.”

“You’re not taking a Personal Studies class.” Dex glared at him, but there was something about his mouth that looked almost like a smile. “I don’t think Samwell even has a Personal Studies class.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Sounds made up, actually. Is your New Year’s resolution to be more honest? You’re not doing so well.”

Derek slumped a little. “It was to drink less, actually. Well, one of them was. And I’m failing.”

Dex smiled for real now. “You _are_ drinking less. Like I said, no crowd surfing.”

“Oh. Chill.” Derek smiled back, bleary-eyed. “I’m sucks -- succeeding!”

There was _something_ in Dex’s eyes, something Derek liked more than usual, and then it was gone.

“Tell me your resolutions, Dexter,” Derek said, nudging him with his elbow. Just the lightest, tiniest little touch. Nothing he’d regret doing in the morning.

“Maybe I don’t have any.”

Derek ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, willing himself to be quiet. To not say _that’s because you’re perfect_ , even as a joke, because Dex needed his space and that would be too much like flirting. “Not even to exercise more? Come on, Dex.”

“I already play hockey. Every day.” Dex shook his head, and for just a moment he seemed full of life again -- shining eyes, smile. “What would be the point?”

Derek sighed, and then started coughing, because it was hard to breathe when his chest was having this little moment over how great Dex was. “The point is to get swole,” he finally choked out.

He was definitely not imagining the way Dex’s eyes flitted to his body for a moment, or the red blush that Derek could just barely see in the low lighting. “Well. I don’t know.”

Derek couldn’t think of anything to say, and, anyway, his eyelids were getting heavy, so he said nothing. He shut his eyes a moment, imagining he could hear Dex’s breaths even though the party was too loud around them. He opened his eyes and smiled at Dex.

Dex twisted his mouth to the side and blushed again before smiling back. 

_If I pass out right now, maybe he’ll think it’s because I’m drunk_ , Derek thought from within the haze. “Dex. Your hair is so red.” He was vaguely aware that was a stupid thing to say, but Dex smiled again and he was distracted by the way his knees ached for more of that smile. 

“Shut up, Nursey,” Dex said, shaking his head and laughing. The shy turn of his head, the hesitant twist of his shoulders as he rearranged himself to face Derek -- it made Derek’s fucking toes curl.

Dex smiled, faint and small, damn him. “You really look like you’re going to pass out.”

“Well,” Derek said. That was about all he could say. He stared at Dex’s mouth and tried not to imagine coaxing it open. He stared at Dex’s hands and tried not to imagine grabbing them, pressing them gently against his own stomach, rib cage, heart. He could barely think over the thud of his heartbeat in his ears, but his brain was a dangerous place right now, so that was probably for the best.

_Don’t touch him_ , he instructed himself, but his hands were humming with their own desires, and he might not be able to stop them. Maybe he should talk about being swole again. “Dex--”

“Nurse!” A pair of truly swole arms surrounded him, picked him up, tossed him over a muscled shoulder like he was just a sack of -- something. He’d remember how that idiom was supposed to go tomorrow, maybe. “I’ve been looking for you for ages!”

“Eurhghg, Ransom, no,” Derek whined, chasing off a wild hope that Dex would, like, save him. Romantically. “I don’t want you to be looking for me. I’m free from the Patrol.”

“Dude, Bitty needs a beer pong partner. You and Bitty against me and Holtzy, doesn’t that sound fun?”

“No,” Derek groused, and prodded Ransom with his elbow even though he knew it was pointless.

Ransom waved at Dex and carried Derek away. “'Bro, you're not even that heavy. I should carry you more often.”

"Please, no," Derek sighed, although that didn't sound too bad.

He and Bitty were demolished.

\---

Later, hungover and a little embarrassed, Derek realized he couldn’t remember a single song that was playing after he found Dex. Holster and Ransom were disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The next two chapters will each be from Dex's perspective, so let me take this moment to say.... I love Derek so much. So much.)
> 
> Up next: Dex thinks about kissing. Lardo interrupts.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Derek tried to get lucky at a party, but realized he was hopelessly devoted to Dex. (I watched Grease recently ok)

Dex pushed his dorm room window open. He resisted the urge to yell his frustration out into the parking lot. The damn building had their heat up too high, overcompensating as usual for the cold weather. And here he was, stuck in an annoying cycle -- get uncomfortably warm until even breathing felt oppressive, open the window until he was too cold, shut the window and get too warm again. Fucking Samwell.

He wouldn’t have been so frustrated if it weren’t for a similarly inescapable cycle going on in his own head. Depression would eat at him for a few minutes, shutting out any possibility that things could ever be okay for him. Then, something would spark under his skin and suddenly Dex would find himself happily anxious, still scared of the future but buzzing about what might happen. What might happen with _Derek_.

Then a heavy weight would press on his chest again, and he’d helplessly imagine what it would like to be out, to be stared at and judged by everyone in his life. His family might reject him; even if they didn’t, he’d know that there was a part of them that secretly wanted to.

But he knew not everyone would feel that way -- his friends here, his teammates, would all be happy for him. He had a sinking feeling that some of them would chirp him for it, and that he’d really fail to have a sense of humor about it, and that scared him too, but he couldn’t help but feel warmer when he considered what might happen if he told Derek.

Derek would be happy. And, maybe, Dex would be happy. Hell, Derek might even want to be with him. And--

Dex banged his Spanish textbook onto the table and glared at it. He had better things to do than think about something that would never happen, and that he’d never even feel confident enough to try for anyway. 

So. Spanish. He went to the course’s webpage and pulled up the assignment description. He just needed to read a four page narrative in the textbook, then write three paragraphs comparing it to what they’d learned in class. That should eat up a solid hour of worry time.

The problem was that he could barely get himself to read two sentences. His mind kept… wandering. He’d grit his teeth and lean back over the textbook, furiously crinkling his brow in forced concentration, but it never lasted. 

So he’d read -- _De diversas formas, con diferentes costumbres, a lo largo del país vuelve a nacer el sentido patriota_ \-- and then he’d be somewhere else. 

He imagined that it was hot outside, maybe at the Big E fair, and he was in line for the ferris wheel. Derek would be there, obviously; they were friends. Derek would shove cotton candy in his face, and Dex would rip off a piece and stick it to Derek’s nose. 

The daydream fast-forwarded to sitting in a cart on the ferris wheel, light-hearted arguments that Dex could feel in his gut, smiling without taking the time to imagine what they’d say. And when their cart got to the top of the ferris wheel, his imagination made the ride break down -- they would be stuck for a good hour.

He knew with a false certainty, which was really just hope, that the next thing to happen would be a slow, drawn out confession of feelings, heralded by too many warm looks from Derek and blushes from Dex. Once everything was out in the open, they would snuggle together at the top of the ferris wheel and Derek would kiss his head. 

That was sickening. He needed to read his fucking Spanish book and also find a way to truly, literally bleach his brain. And never think about Derek Nurse’s lips on his forehead again.

He answered that thought by imagining Derek’s lips on his forehead for another five seconds, then glared at his textbook once again.

_De diversas formas, con diferentes costumbres, a lo largo del país vuelve a nacer el sentido patriota. DE DIVERSAS FORMAS, CON DIFERENTES COSTUMBRES, A LO LARGO…_

But it was so cold, and it was even starting to snow, and Dex wondered what might happen with Derek in a perfect world on a snowy day. They could be snowed in at the Haus -- but they’d have to be alone, which didn’t make much sense considering five other people lived there and they didn’t -- and they’d have nothing to do but get on each other’s nerves.

They’d camp out in the living room, talking into the night with nothing but candles to see each other by -- because apparently the electricity was out, too -- and Derek would be able to pry all of Dex’s secrets and fears and feelings out of him, and Derek would hold his face and--

_De diversas formas, con diferentes costumbres, a lo largo del país vuelve a nacer el sentido patriota._

There was also something exciting, something comforting, about the idea of somehow finding himself stuck in a janitor’s closet with Derek, anger turning into understanding, pressing Derek against the wall and pulling his hair and kissing him--

Well, Jesus. He just might have a _thing_ about being trapped in physical proximity with Derek. Probably because that was the only way he’d ever be able to push past his fear and pride in order to really _talk_. 

And kiss. That was definitely part of his imagination’s pattern, too.

He groaned, resting his face in his hands, and wondered if a concussion on the ice was the only way to get this shit out of his head. He had just been starting to accept the fact that he had a crush on Derek, albeit the kind of crush he was _never_ going to do anything about, but now he had to deal with the cheesiest, most embarrassing romantic fantasies he’d ever had in his life.

He groaned again when he realized that all of his previous “crushes” had been on girls, back when he’d assumed that feeling nervous and inadequate when a pretty girl talked to him was tantamount to having a crush. God, _of course_ his first real crush had to be on Derek Nurse, who had probably never felt romantically inadequate in his life. That asshole.

When a loud banging sound sliced through the room, Dex jumped in his seat, panic rising until he realized it was just someone knocking on the door. Which he would have figured out immediately if they had just knocked like a normal person instead of attacking the door like they were in a goddamn tank.

“Dex, you’d better be in there!”

That was Lardo. He exhaled until he felt slightly more at peace, then hobbled over to the door -- his leg had fallen asleep -- and let her in. 

“You weren’t answering any of my texts. I was starting to wonder if you had died.”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess.” Dex stared at Lardo, hoping he would be able to figure out why she was there and slightly nervous that he had forgotten something -- they didn’t generally hang out in unscheduled, unstructured ways.

Lardo peered back at him, then shook her head. “You forgot. Come on, Dex.”

There was no point in lying. “Okay, yeah. What did I forget?”

“Really, Dex?” She sighed, but the glimmer in her eyes suggested she wasn’t truly annoyed. “ _Much Ado about Nothing_? Standing on your chest until you promised to go with me? None of this ringing a bell?”

“Shit, right.” Dex turned red, mostly because he didn’t cuss much when he wasn’t alone (or with Derek) and had a feeling she’d chirp him for it.

But she didn’t comment. “Well, it starts in half an hour and we’ve got a fifteen minute walk. Do you need to change?”

“I don’t know,” Dex said, hesitant. He look down at his clothes -- a long-sleeved grey shirt and plain jeans. “Are we supposed to dress up there?”

“It’s whatever. You’re fine.”

Dex glanced at his closet. “I’ve got nicer clothes, if that’s better. I can change.”

“Some people get all fancy, some people wear sweatpants,” Lardo shrugged. “You can really wear whatever. It’s, like, five dollars to get in.”

“Okay,” Dex said, turning red because that was apparently his job now. “I guess this is fine, then.”

“Well, you look very spiffy,” Lardo said. “Ready to go? I don’t want to be late.”

Dex surveyed his open textbook, a taunting reminder of all the work he hadn’t even started. “Ugh. Yes.” He had promised, and a promise counted even when it was extracted by someone standing on your chest and pushing all the air out of your lungs, and he doubted he’d be able to focus on his Spanish anyway.

“Nice,” Lardo said, and held the door open with her foot, watching Dex as he grabbed his winter coat and gave the room a quick once-over before nodding and stepping out. “So I’m sorry I forced you to choose between going tonight and ever breathing again, but I think you’ll like it. It’s sassy.”

“That’s fine, you weren’t _that heavy_ ,” Dex said, and dodged an indignant smack. “That wasn’t even supposed to be an insult, hey.” He ignored the suggestion that he was sassy. Having a blunt disposition and something of a fiery temper wasn’t the same thing as being _sassy_.

They reached the bottom of the stairwell and pushed through the door into the lobby of Dex’s dorm, and Dex gritted his teeth to stave off the ache that shot through his bones when he saw Derek waiting. 

He didn’t wobble on his feet. But Derek’s winter parka was so puffy and cute.

An evening at the theater, he reflected, was probably the best use of his time. More important than his Spanish homework, definitely.

“Nurse is coming with us,” Lardo said, although it wasn’t really a necessary clarification at this point. “Hope that doesn’t bug you.”

“She made me wait down here so you wouldn’t say no,” Derek cut in, wounded. “Since when am I a dealbreaker?”

“Since always,” Dex responded automatically, but he couldn’t help but give Derek a too-big smile. 

It was cold outside, like any other January night, but there wasn’t any wind. Lardo was trying to give Dex a little background on the play they were going to see, but he was distracted by watching Derek, who was amusing himself by rasping out heavy breaths and smiling as they became puffs of fog. 

Dex wanted to hold him so tightly, to wrap his arms around that obnoxious puffy parka and press his face into Derek’s shoulder and become the only two people in the world. He wanted it so much it hurt.

“Dude, are you even listening?” Lardo asked, but she didn’t sound too irritated.

“Mm-hmm. Yeah.”

“Liar. Now pay attention.” But before she could start over, the faint sound of her phone buzzing cut them off, and Lardo’s face lit up. “That had better be Shitty. He was supposed to call me an hour ago.” She took off her mittens as she pulled out her phone. “Why does everyone on this team suck at remembering plans?”

“Sorry,” Dex muttered, knowing that was 100% a dig at him, but she looked pretty damn happy when she answered the phone.

As Lardo casually fell behind, purposefully leaving a generous amount of space between them so she could have a semi-private conversation, Derek leaned into Dex and hooked their elbows together. “I can’t believe we’re going to a play together, Dex. If only our freshmen selves could see us now.”

“Lardo’s definitely sitting between us,” Dex said, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

Derek tightened his elbow around Dex’s and let himself start falling in the other direction; Dex squawked, which was kind of embarrassing, and yelled out, “Derek, _stop_!” That may have been even more embarrassing.

“Aw, I’m Derek now? I love how close we’re getting.”

“It’s not that at all,” Dex mumbled, and he was alarmed to realize that he was grinning _again_. “The opposite, actually. Derek’s what strangers call you.”

Derek released his elbow, which felt a bit like falling, but just to bend over, capture a mittenful of snow, and toss it across Dex’s front. “If we’re not friends, we have to be enemies. This means war.”

Dex wasn’t wearing gloves, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He sprinted ahead of Derek, shoveled up a healthy amount of snow, and flung it with as much force as he could. He’d feel bad that some of it hit Derek right in the face, but since he’d been suffering through an actual gay crisis that Derek had _technically_ been the catalyst for, it felt like a just form of payback.

“I swear to fucking god, guys. I swear to god.” Lardo was glaring at him, and there was a distinct possibility that he had lobbed some of the snow a little too far. She stared him down until her point was made, then returned to her phone call.

Derek snickered and poked at Dex’s ribs, practically tickling. “You made her mad.”

“Oops.”

“She hates you now.”

“Does not.”

Lardo piped up -- “I _love_ Dex, thank you very much!” -- which made him beam and Derek roll his eyes. 

“Okay,” Derek said, his lips pursing as he fought back a smile, “so she loves you.”

And nothing else was said. Derek didn’t link their arms again, but they walked closely, Derek bumping his shoulder into Dex every once in awhile, smiling. Dex felt warm and most likely pink all over, hearing the echoes of Derek’s voice saying “love” and “you,” and imagining new ways that Derek might speak those same words.

A pleasant tingle hummed through him, spreading from his toes to his ribcage to his cheeks. He was happy. He was gay and closeted and walking with someone he could never be with and _happy_. 

And really, there was nothing stopping him from continuing to be all of those things for the next two years. He could worry about what to tell his parents, or about how to see a cute guy and do something about it in public, later. But worrying about that right now made him anything but happy; being here, safe and somewhere between comfortable and jittery, made him exceptionally happy.

Dex leaned over and linked their elbows together again.

Yeah, he could be closeted for a couple years if that meant he could live like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Well, you know.
> 
> I can't believe there's only one chapter left.... we're almost there..


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on: Dex is going to a play! With Derek and Lardo! 
> 
> We're finally here..... we made it....... I love you all and I feel God in this Chili's tonight.

His shoulder was only an inch away from Derek’s, and they were tucked into a table at Annie’s, and light snow was falling outside the window, and Dex was very, very happy.

Lardo and Derek were sharing a bowl of strawberry froyo, taking turns dipping their spoons in a mutually beneficial rhythm. Dex was scarfing down a banana split, and he used his own spoon to fend off greedy attacks from both of them. Lardo kept shoving her phone toward his face, taking what must have been the most unflattering close-ups possible, and Dex opened his mouth and poked out his fudge-coated tongue for the camera.

Something hard kept poking Dex’s foot, and he tried to peer under the table to identify it. “Lardo, if you’re the one who keeps kicking me, that’s my foot and not a chair. If it’s you, Nursey, fuck off.”

“I’m definitely not kicking you,” Derek said primly, just as Lardo said, “Not me.”

Dex felt a faint nudge on his foot.

“Ugh,” he groaned, and briefly wondered if Annie’s was encountering a rodent problem before deciding that it was almost definitely Derek to blame.

Lardo shook her head, and Derek just _smiled_. There was something in that smile that made Dex blush, and the next time he felt a nudge against his foot, he clenched his toes and resisted the urge to say anything.

Derek’s eyes were so warm. Under the table, his foot felt another light tap. Jesus fucking Christ, were they playing footsie? 

This was stupid. And cliched and sappy and _gross_ , but Dex just kept blushing and staring down at his banana split instead of telling him to stop.

Life was unfair.

“Did you like the play, Poindexter?” Derek asked sweetly.

“I liked it _fine_ ,” Dex bit out.

“Oh, good,” Derek said. “Had you been to that theater before?”

Dex felt a zing of _something_ all the way up his leg as their feet touched again. He scowled. “I haven’t been to that theater before because I have _class_ , and going to plays costs _money_ , but I’ve been to plays before, Derek. I do lots of stuff besides fix shit and work on lobster boats, you know.”

“Lots of stuff?” Derek asked innocently, but his voice was straining higher, like he was trying not to giggle.

Lardo’s chair wiggled as she aimed a slightly painful kick at Dex’s shin. He was really sick of people touching him with their feet. “Dude, quit ruining my post-theater buzz,” she said, but her shoulders seemed relaxed as she gave her spoonful of froyo an appreciative lick. 

“Yeah, Dex,” Derek said with an indignant sniff that almost made Dex too pissed off to shiver as Derek’s foot slid under his own, tracing his arch. Almost. “You have to act sensitive and thoughtful for, like, ten minutes before you go back to being your regular self. We _pretentious hippies_ have to work off our post-theater buzz gradually.”

So _maybe_ Dex had once gotten drunk past the point of coherence and had told Derek he was ‘an obnoxious, pretentious hippie,’ a memory that still burned Dex’s neck in embarrassment to remember, mostly because Derek had thought being called a hippie was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him. 

But he wasn’t going to show that he was embarrassed. Unless he was blushing, which he probably was, fuck. He twitched as Derek’s foot brushed against his toes and schooled his face into a scowl. “You’re -- you’re so --”

“Pretentious?”

“ _Annoying_ ,” Dex answered through clenched teeth.

Derek’s face slowly broke into a wide smile, and Dex clenched his teeth even tighter.

\---

The night air was brisk and cold, and it whispered a tight feeling of anxiety down the back of Dex’s neck. He felt on edge, torn between wanting to pull in closer to Derek and to elbow him away.

They were walking back to the dorms, he and Derek and Lardo. It may have been unwise to eat ice cream on such a cold night; they should have cozied up with coffee or hot chocolate instead. That ice cream, too, sat in his stomach and felt suspiciously like a knot of fear. 

“I loved the tone,” Lardo was saying to Derek, because _of course_ they had to be pretentious hipsters -- that was a much better word choice than hippies -- and discuss every damn aspect of the play in detail on the walk back. Dex was trying to stay out of it.

“Oh, yeah,” Derek said, sounding too passionate for the topic, and Dex held back a snort, barely. “And the sets! Considering their budget must be, like, really fucking cheap, their sets were incredible.”

That much was true. Dex had lied just a little bit when he’d made it sound like he went to plays all the time -- the only theatrical productions he’d ever witnessed were put on by his own high school. They were talented, but it wasn’t really the same. He’d never seen a rotating stage before, and while it wasn’t by any means a difficult piece of technology to install or use, he had to admit it was amazing to see how creatively the company had integrated this feature into their performance.

Not that he was going to say anything like that. Derek would call him a hippie for weeks. 

“All of the actors were so talented,” Lardo said, and there was an edge of longing in her voice. Happy, but maybe a little jealous -- that was probably an artist thing. “I’ve read it, so I technically knew it was supposed to be funny, but God.”

“I _knooow!_ ” Derek practically howled, and Dex fought back a smile. “Even the little bits in the background, the wordplay; they really sold that. It was perfect.”

“Beatrice was hilarious,” Lardo grinned. “Benedick, too, but just a little less so.”

“Oh my god, yes. I wish they’d had more chemistry together, but individually they were so talented and so funny.”

Dex gritted his teeth in annoyance; leave it to Derek to have the stupidest opinion _ever_ , even on a topic he supposedly knew something about. “What are you talking about?” he cut in, and was dimly aware that he was coming off way more aggressively than the situation required. But it was Derek, so he didn’t care. “Their chemistry was fine.”

“ _Their chemistry was fine_ ,” Derek imitated, and Lardo shoved a hand against her face and groaned. 

“It was!” 

Derek shoved his hands in his coat pockets and smirked. “If I say was not, are we going to keep doing this for awhile?”

“No.” Dex stared resolutely ahead. “And they had tons of chemistry.”

Lardo raised her eyes to the heavens and walked a little faster.

“Dude, we heard you the first time,” Derek said, eyes sparkling like fucking emeralds. But, like, really annoying emeralds. “But look -- the original text of the play has so much banter and inherent verbal chemistry just woven into it that a lot of that is taken care of for them in advance. They have to bring something physical and intangible, like an energy, to the stage, and it wasn’t there.”

Dex huffed out a frustrated breath, heart pumping and skin buzzing just like every time he picked a fight with Derek. “Well, I disagree. Is that allowed?”

Derek grinned big, and Dex was furious before he even spoke. “I guess I can’t stop you, but I _was_ in theater in high school and I took a theater class just last semester. So I feel like, maybe, I’m the expert between us.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Dex sputtered, fury making his heart race, “and taking one stupid class doesn’t mean you know everything.” Derek just kept _grinning_ at him, and even though he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that smiling and being smiled at by Derek was a good way to live, right now he just wanted Derek to look less confident and easy -- he wanted to shove him, put his hands on him. “God, you’re the worst.”

“So was their chemistry,” Derek tossed back.

“Don’t be a dumbass. They had so much sexual tension,” Dex countered, reddening around the face. “All that bickering.”

“Ooh, bickering,” Derek laughed, eyes bright. “Big word.”

“I’m not an _idiot_ , Derek--”

Lardo groaned loudly and threw up her hands. “That’s it. Good night. I’m going to my friend’s dorm, and we’re going to watch a movie, and I’m freeing myself from this hell.”

Derek immediately tried to look contrite. “Aw, Lards, we’ll stop fighting! Stay with us.”

“No, that’s fine. I just need to go somewhere where there’s less… bickering.”

“That’s a low blow, Larissa,” Derek said, and Dex only blushed.

\---

They were still arguing as they approached Derek’s dorm, even as the play itself was temporarily forgotten. The topic had moved away from _Much Ado about Nothing_ and had somehow become a heated analysis of _Mad Max: Fury Road._

“Dex, you can repeat yourself a million times if that’s what you want, but it doesn’t make you right,” Derek was saying, as if there was a limit on the number of times the movie’s practical effects should be admired. “But what I’m saying is there are, like, ten billion action-packed blockbusters every year. Explosions aren’t what makes the film special.”

“The flamethrower electric guitar was fully functional, you fuckhead! Do you not understand that?”

“Dude, all I’m saying is that this film’s going to be remembered because it raised the bar for women in action films, not because of the guitar flamethrower.”

Dex scowled in Derek’s direction, but avoided truly looking him in the face. He was too damn good looking, and that would be a distraction. “Maybe both are important.”

Derek hummed. “Both are.” He lightly prodded Dex’s side with his elbow. “But mine’s still a little more important.”

Before Dex could form his overwhelming irritation into a coherent response, they reached the front door of Derek’s dorm and, with it, a whole new problem.

The problem was -- he was supposed to be avoiding Derek. And, yeah, talking with him at parties and allowing him to tag along to the play weren’t necessarily great examples of _avoiding_ somebody, but in both situations they had basically been thrown together. It had felt inevitable.

Going into Derek’s dorm was not inevitable. It was, in fact, avoidable. Which made Dex wonder why he’d willingly followed Derek all the way here.

“Are you walking me to my door, Dex? That’s very sweet.” 

Dex scowled in embarrassment. “What? I just--”

“Just kidding, just kidding,” Derek said. “Chill.”

“I swear to _God_ , Nursey--”

“Hey, you should come up, though,” Derek said, his face softening despite the rage in Dex’s tone. “It’s cold out.”

The weather was irrelevant to any decision Dex would make one way or the other, but he just shrugged. He wanted to; he really wanted to go up and spend more time with Derek, but he still felt a stone-cold terror weighing him down when he imagined being alone with him, imagined Derek figuring him out and laughing at him or -- or feeling sorry for him. He didn’t know which would be worse. 

But they wouldn’t really be alone; Derek had a roommate. Dex would be safe.

“And, uh, my roommate’s visiting family this weekend.”

That should have been bad news, but it _wasn’t._ Dex stared at him and gulped as his last iota of resolve waved goodbye. “Huh.”

Derek shrugged, and pulled his ID card out of his wallet to let himself into the building. He glanced behind in Dex’s general direction, hesitantly holding the door open. “You coming in, or what?”

He wasn’t making eye contact with Dex, and Dex swallowed any hope over what that might mean. Being alone with Derek Nurse was a stupid idea, he reminded himself. “Sure.”

\---

They fought all the way up the stairs -- first because Derek was mad that Dex wouldn’t let them take the elevator up to the fourth floor (“You’re a hockey player, Nursey, stop being such a baby--” “My body’s already perfect, I don’t need this--”), then over whether New York or Boston was a better city.

Derek’s arguments were mostly based on the variety of interesting things to do in New York and the overall feel of the city, while Dex was taking the more aggressive approach of insulting every single person who called New York home. At any other time, he would have been able to logically recognize this as the strategy of the losing side, but Derek just kept _laughing_ and _smiling_ at him with his stupid grey-green eyes, and it was pissing Dex off.

“Stop laughing, Derek,” Dex snarled as they neared the door, and he tried to ignore the thrill of either excitement or fear that crept up his spine. “All New Yorkers are stuck-up and self-absorbed. All they care about is being cool and looking good!”

Derek shouldered his door open and smiled back at Dex. “Aw, Dexy, are you saying I’m cool? And attractive?”

“A better word would be ‘shallow.’”

“Ouch, Dex,” Derek said, light with suppressed laughter. He kicked off his shoes, letting them soar across the room until they bounced off the far wall, and dropped onto his bed. “Then what are the people in Boston like?”

That was hard to answer, as Dex wasn’t even from Boston. “Better than the ones in New York,” he replied stubbornly, as that was the best he could do.

Derek, sitting on the bed, tipped his head back and looked up at Dex. After the shortest of moments, during which Dex wondered if he was in love or if the real problem was that his entire body was just made of jelly, Derek laughed -- laughed with so much genuine delight and freedom, throat flashing under Dex’s stare, that Dex felt a chill run up his spine.

_It wasn’t fair._

Everything about Derek was beautiful -- his eyes, his smug smile, the pull of his eyelids, the roughness of his laughter, the sharp lines when he turned on his skates. And Dex _wanted_ him so much, wanted to kiss him and fight with him and fucking fall asleep on him, that he wondered if he might fall over. 

He was probably going to cry about this later. 

At this point, he just wanted Derek to tell him to chill so he had something to get angry about.

But instead, Derek stopped laughing and looked almost shy. He regarded Dex through his painfully beautiful eyelashes, then looked down at the bedspread next to him. “Hey, Dex. Sit down. I want to show you something.”

This felt suspicious. Dex eyed the bedspread like it was laced with something toxic, but he found himself sitting anyway. “What is it?”

“Um.” A flash of panic showed in Derek’s eyes, and he looked like he was about to laugh again. “Look at my hand.”

“Your hand.”

“It has many interesting properties,” Derek mumbled, “that you must see to believe.”

Dex knew he was being fucked with, but sitting next to Derek was making his ears ring, so he didn’t argue. He couldn’t think to argue. “Okay?”

“Oh.” Derek moved his hand to his mouth, tapping a finger against his lips as he thought. “Like. Are you aware that my fingernails are, like, perfect rectangles? Look at that.” To demonstrate, he stuck out his hand again for Dex to peruse.

“Huh,” Dex said, as if he could even see anything but Derek’s mouth right now. “Cool, I guess.”

“Go ahead and examine them,” Derek said, and his mouth was pulling back into a sly smile. “They’re works of art, really.”

Dex let Derek slide his hand into his own for just a moment, but dropped it once it became apparent that his heart might actually stop from the contact. He was seized by the urge to tackle Derek and press about one billion kisses to his face and neck, which was (to put it mildly) alarming. “Why are you being so weird?” he demanded, and his irritation sounded false even to his own ears.

A soft laugh was Derek’s only reply, and Dex tried to scowl at him until he was caught off-guard -- how that was possible after an hour of staring, he didn’t know -- by how beautiful Derek’s eyes were. Beautiful, and so _warm._

_Unfair_ , Dex thought, a voice in the back of his head drowned out by the experience of sitting next to Derek Nurse, looking at Derek Nurse, feeling their knees press together. He took in Derek’s eyes, his mouth, the movement of his face and the light glowing on his skin, the slope of his nose and his _eyes._

He was dimly aware that Derek had spoken. No fucking clue what he said, but Dex wouldn’t have been surprised if it was _stop staring at me, you freak._

Dex hadn’t been careful, so his whole body felt warm and loose and _tingly_ , which was gross as hell, but now the tiniest jolt of panic shot through his heart. He struggled to pull his gaze away from Derek’s eyes, and only succeeded because he realized that Derek’s _mouth_ was really close to his own.

Really close.

And he didn’t know if Derek closed the gap or if he fell into it like the pathetic mess he felt he was, but then Derek’s mouth was on his.

Dex’s hands stayed clenched at his sides, and Derek didn’t move to touch Dex either. The pressure of Derek’s lips was soft and light; Dex barely remembered to be nervous about the fact that he hadn’t kissed anyone before. 

Derek only kissed him for a few seconds, and before he pulled back he shifted to press one more small kiss to the corner of Dex’s mouth, halfway on Dex’s bottom lip and halfway on his skin. Before Derek could finish, Dex jerked his head away, gasping.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like it. It was more that he was going to have a heart attack if he didn’t take a break.

“Um.” 

Dex managed to breathe, and then looked at Derek. He looked -- nervous. Or concerned. Dex wanted to communicate some semblance of the truth, that he was good with this, but he didn’t trust his voice yet. “Hmm?” was all he managed, in a somewhat high squeak at that.

“Uh, so,” Derek said in a rush, and Dex watched in alarm as he squeezed his hands together anxiously, “was that okay? Are you okay? Do you, like, hate me now, or is this going to be a thing? Or do you just want to never talk about it again?”

Dex blanched. “No! No, it was great, don’t worry. I… really liked it.” He braced for a smirk, but it never came. “We can do it again sometime if you want to. Not, like, that I don’t want to too. ‘Cause I do. It was great, at least I thought it was great, so if you thought so too we can definitely--”

“Dude, chill,” Derek said, which he should have _known_ was coming, even though that was such a stupid thing for Derek to say when he’d literally been panicking, like, ten seconds ago. Dex’s indignant squawk was cut off by Derek leaning in for another kiss.

“You chill,” Dex mumbled against Derek’s lips, and Derek took advantage of the movement to tilt his mouth and find a much better angle -- so much better that Dex felt the change in a tingle all the way down to his knees.

He may have sighed into Derek’s mouth, and Derek responded with a gentle hand tucked under Dex’s chin so he could direct the kiss in even better directions, and then they were both smiling into each other’s lips. 

By the time they had to come up for air, Dex felt more relaxed, and was beginning to realize that this was something he could have, if he wanted it.

He did want it. They were alone in Derek’s room with no one to see them or judge him, and at least while they were safe here, he wanted this.

Derek inched back on the mattress so he was leaning against the wall, his legs sprawled out in front of him, and Dex moved next to him. He let Derek pull him closer, let their legs tangle together, which felt like jumping off a cliff. But it also felt like catching his breath, or like hope.

He had almost forgotten why he and Derek were always getting into fights when Derek opened his mouth. “So Shakespeare really gets you hot, huh?”

“Shut up,” Dex pouted, jabbing his elbow into Derek’s ribs.

It had little effect. “No, really, which one of us do you think is Beatrice, and which is Benedick? Personally, I feel like I’m more of a Bened--”

Dex hushed him with a sharp kiss, punctuated with a teasing bite to Derek’s bottom lip. It felt daring. He hoped that, whatever the learning curve was for kissing, he was climbing rapidly.

When they broke apart again, Derek’s breathing uneven in a way that made Dex feel proud and more than a bit self-satisfied, Derek pressed a sweeter kiss to the underside of Dex’s jaw and whispered, “This is nice.”

“Poetic.”

“I know for a fact you don’t like it when I get poetic,” Derek laughed. “I’ll save it for later, when I know you won’t leave me for someone better.”

Dex turned his smile away. “How do you know I won’t do that now?”

“Dex!” Derek yelped. “You’re supposed to reassure me. That was your _line_ , I was handing it to you on a fucking silver platter --”

“Of course you did. Spoiled rich kid, just throwing away a silver platter on someone who doesn’t even want it --”

“Oh my god, you don’t even like me,” Derek said piteously. 

Dex rolled his eyes. “I like you plenty.”

“But I’m from _New York_ , Dex. The worst place. You hate all New Yorkers.”

Dex shifted his legs, letting them rub against Derek’s. “Except one.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet, Dexy,” Derek grinned, and it took a monumental effort on Dex’s part not to smack him. “Is that why you’re always saving my life by putting pillows everywhere at kegsters? Making sure I don’t fall off a table and break my ass on the floor?”

Dex hummed. “Yeah. I like your ass.”

“My knight in shining armor.”

Dex laughed at the pout on Derek’s face and tucked himself even closer to Derek’s side, letting his anxiety slide away for the moment so he could press small, fierce kisses everywhere.

He sat back, flushed and lazy, and stared at Derek, who shot him a shy smile. Dex’s heart gave a jolt as he realized that he and Derek would never be the same. Nursey, his slightly irritating friend who got on each of his nerves and never allowed him to stop pushing back, was gone. They were _together_ now, and that meant they would be seeing something new in one another. 

Dex didn’t know if he was ready to let Derek see him. He didn’t know if he was ready to see Derek. But they were together, and this was happening, and he didn’t want to stop it.

“Hey, Dex,” Derek said, voice hushed. “Question.”

He poked his chin into Derek’s shoulder. “What?”

“Do you want to go with me to the Valentine’s thing? Or is that too much?”

Dex’s whole body was tense before his mind had even finished processing the question, and Derek pulled away to take in his facial expression. Dex searched for an explanation that wouldn’t be completely pathetic, and came up empty.

“Yo, don’t even stress,” Derek said, tone carefully light. Like Dex was fragile, which wasn’t too far from the truth. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I…” Dex didn’t know how to say it. He wasn’t used to Derek seeing him weak, and he didn’t know how to let him. “Sorry.”

Derek watched him to see if he had anything else to add. He had plenty to add, but he couldn’t get it out, so Derek had to fill in the gaps. “You don’t want to be super public right now, right? Let me know if I’m off-base or whatever, but is that it?”

Really, Derek was making this easy for him, putting it into words and everything, but Dex could still barely force his throat to form words. “Yeah. Basically.” He would have leaned in and distracted Derek with more kissing, but he wasn’t stupid and he knew Derek wasn’t either. They had to have this conversation.

And Derek was looking at him patiently, so it was still his turn. “I mean, that’s mostly it.”

“What’s the rest of it?” Derek asked, and his tone gave nothing away. Of all the fucking times he could have picked to actually be chill. Dex would have given anything for even the tiniest hint of how Derek was feeling-- was he annoyed? Understanding? Pissed off?

Well, he’d find out soon. “I know this kind of sucks,” as if that word could encompass what he was asking of Derek, “but I kind of don’t want to be... out.”

“Okay,” Derek said easily.

Dex narrowed his eyes, unable to hold back his suspicion. “Okay? You don’t even know what I’m talking about yet.”

“Dude, I wasn’t out to you guys until super recently. I understand the concept.” Derek bumped their shoulders together. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Like, not out to _anyone_ ,” Dex stressed. “Nobody at Samwell at _all._ Nobody on the team. Not even Lardo or Bitty.” 

If he expected Derek to question him, or to get angry, he was wrong. “Okay.”

Dex paused and stared at him. He had to be at least a _little_ annoyed; no one was actually that chill about being told that a relationship that made them happy had to be kept completely secret from every person in their life. He stretched for a compromise, just in case. “I guess you could tell your parents, though. As long as they aren’t somehow going to get the info back to the team.”

“Aw, Dex, you want me to tell my parents about you? That’s so sweet.”

“I fucking hate you,” Dex groused, knowing there was no bite to his words.

Derek slid a warm hand into his. “That’s okay. I can’t wait to find out how you’ll kiss me when you like me, then.”

“Shut up, I like you just fine.”

“Or even when you feel neutrally toward me.”

“I said I like you,” Dex mumbled, not knowing if the warmth he was feeling was from being so happy or just a blush. “God.”

“Hey, I like you too,” Derek said, and gave Dex’s forehead a little kiss. 

That was a little too cute for Dex, but it also fulfilled a lot of his most deeply-held fantasies, so he wasn’t going to complain. “So it really isn’t going to be a problem? Like, you can’t tell _anyone_. Chowder, Holster, Ransom, your weird hippie friends…”

“It’s okay. Being with you is more than enough.”

Dex exaggerated a shudder. “Okay, that’s gross. Don’t be such a _humanities_ type, Derek.”

“I thought I was being nice by not making fun of you for saying hippies again, but okay,” Derek smiled. “You sound middle-aged.”

“You sound like a fourteen-year old writing love poems.”

“Better than being an old geezer.”

Dex laughed and climbed onto Derek’s lap. He took a deep breath and planted a kiss right on Derek’s lips. 

When he pulled away, Derek’s lazy smile and warm eyes nearly killed him. “It’s really okay, though?” he managed.

“Dude, like I said,” Derek mumbled, pressing his nose against Dex’s, “I’m really fine with anything as long as you’re here.”

“That’s _gross_ , Derek,” Dex repeated. He knew he was turning bright red, and he couldn’t even begin to process whether or not Derek was kidding, and what it meant if he wasn’t.

“That’s _romantic_ ,” Derek teased. He sat up straight and rested his hands against Dex’s back, smiling at him like a really annoying Greek god.

As Derek’s hands traced gentle lines down his back, Dex struggled to force his lungs to work. “Like I said, gross.”

“We’re really going to have to work on that,” Derek sighed, and pulled Dex in for a kiss that made his whole body weak -- long, deep, and laden with every emotion a hockey-playing poet could hold.

This, Dex reflected as he gasped against Derek’s mouth, was incredibly sappy. Sappy, romantic, gross. Dangerous.

But he was happy, and somehow he had made Derek happy, and he could feel in every inch of contact with Derek’s body how much he was wanted; he knew from the care in Derek’s lips, from the tenderness pressing Derek’s fingers into his back, that Derek would protect him, would protect what they had; they could trust each other.

So Dex found the part of his mind that was still worrying at the idea of sharing this precious secret, of exposing himself to rejection, and told it to wait awhile. He wanted to wait, and Derek was okay with waiting, and he could be happy _right now._

He smiled when Derek grabbed his hand and dropped it unceremoniously onto Derek's head. Dex slid his fingers deeper into Derek's hair and gave a small tug, just to see what would happen. 

Derek moaned into his mouth.

Okay, yep. He was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S OVER OH Y GDO!!!! Thank you to all who have commented, subscribed, bookmarked..... you are my reason to get up in the morning. 
> 
> (Hey, so there's this one part at the end of Much Ado About Nothing where Beatrice is teasing Benedick, and he just rolls his eyes and says, "Peace, I will stop your mouth" and kisses her words away. That may have been on my mind a lot as I wrote this.)
> 
> I mainly wrote this story because, while I've loved so many Nurseydex fics here, I hadn't happened across any that told the story I wanted to write -- namely, a story where Dex isn't ready to come out, Nursey can understand that, and Dex is allowed to take his time coming out instead of the whole team finding out the second he and Nursey kiss. Basically, I wanted to write a story that reminds you that it's okay if you're not ready to come out, and you're allowed to wait until you're ready. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr if you want! The URL's on my profile; I'd link it but [Dex voice] I change my URL once a month (sorry) and that link would quickly become useless. 
> 
> Thank you so much for following along and sharing your time and energy with me! You're all the greatest. <3


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